Familiarity
by Necrophagy
Summary: A girl accidentally falls asleep in a Hunter's nest. What happens now? M for language and violence. All OCs. THIS STORY HAS BEEN DISCONTINUED. It will not be finished. However, I am writing a new story using elements from this one.
1. Rude Awakening

((Disclaimer Applies: Left 4 Dead and all Special Infected copyright Valve. Original characters are copyright me. No profit is being made off of this story.))

* * *

_"Can you hear the gears of evolution, grinding for divinity?"_  
_- The Crüxshadows: Love & Hatred (Neuroactive Mix)_

* * *

This will have to do, I thought, surveying the room. I was on the top floor of a hotel overlooking River Street in Savannah, GA. Rather, what was left of Savannah.  
The one thing that stood out to me from the start was that this room was bizarrely clean - no blood smeared on the walls, no overwhelming reek of rotten flesh and worse. There was also no graffiti. It was like the infection had spared this one place. The bed even looked like someone had just rolled out of it. If not for the fine layer of dust, I would have thought that the room was still occupied. In fact, the only off-putting things about the whole room was the musty, old attic smell and the broken window.  
I shrugged and ventured in, gun held in front of me. One couldn't get deceived by cleanliness, you know. Lord knows I'd had enough of those fucking zombies fly out at me from the oddest of places.  
Satisfied that the room and the adjoining bathroom were unoccupied, I shrugged off my pack of meager supplies and dumped it on the bed, holstering my gun and setting about the task of shifting the heavy wardrobe to block the door.  
Easier said than done. Nice hotel, nice, solid furniture. The oak wardrobe nearly tipped over and would have squashed me flat had I not shifted quick enough. As it was, it wound up leaning at a haphazard angle against the door.  
"Good enough." I muttered, then turned to explore my new 'home.' Home for the next day, or maybe the next, depending on my supplies and the horde of zombies milling about outside the building.

In the bathroom, I made a joyous discovery - running water. Hot water, at that. I wasn't even going to ask how, I just planned on enjoying the hell out of it.  
Zombie apocalypses tended to leave a person feeling rather grimy and gory, and a hot shower was the perfect cure.  
I filled the sink with hot, soapy water and left my clothes to soak while I enjoyed my shower. Maybe the last resident was female and close to my size, and maybe they had left their suitcase. I hadn't looked around quite that well. I'd just made sure the place was zombie-free.  
Heaven. Let me tell you, shampoo and soap after two weeks of running from red door to red door - one of those was conspicuously absent here - was pure bliss. I finally felt human again. Especially after I'd availed myself of the razor that I had packed when I left home. Thus showered and squeaky clean, I wrapped myself up in the robe hanging on the back of the door before I went to work scrubbing the grime and blood out of my clothes. They would never be quite the same again, but at least they could look somewhat better and smell good. My gun stayed on the counter beside me as I worked, eventually getting everything as clean as it would be. A real washer and dryer would be a godsend, but I sure as Hell wasn't going downstairs. No telling if they even worked, anyway.  
I hung my clothes over the shower rod before I went into the other room to straighten up the bed, shaking the dust out of the sheets and beating it out of the pillows before collapsing into the first real sleep I'd had in what seemed to be forever.

Let me tell you - sleeping too heavy during a zombie apocalypse is a bad thing.

* * *

Climb. Go, go go go. Avoid the Crier. Shh shh, don't upset her. Bad bad bad.  
Safe. Crier back in her corner. Keep climbing. Hole in wall.  
Avoid the clear sharpness. Hard to pick out.  
Home.  
Nest.  
Safe.  
No Others here. Safesafesafe.  
Heartbeat. Where? Over there. In nest. In home. Live thing.  
Not... Not Other. No no no. Food? Yes... Yes yes yes. No. Don't want food. Just ate.  
What why... My nest. Mineminemine.  
Scent. No blood. Sharp scent. ...Fruit? What is fruit?  
Fruitsmell. Food. Fruit... Food. But not goodfood.  
Curious. Live thing in nest. Sleeping. Mineminemine. Nestroom is mine. Angry. Angryangryangry.

* * *

I woke up to a solid weight on my body, pinning me under the blankets. I couldn't even budge my arms. Damn it, why did I have to sleep curled up like a shrimp?  
Why the hell was I pondering shrimp, anyway? There was something sitting - no, crouching over me. Crouching is worse. There's only one type of infected with the ability to crouch and not tip over.  
Oh... Dear God.  
Breath in my ear, raising unconscious chills down my neck. Scent of blood. No uninfected person has breath that smells like blood. God, but I don't want to open my eyes.  
A quiet noise right by my ear. A low shriek. God, what an oxymoron. Rattling hiss. It knows I'm awake.  
I opened my eyes, staring into the far corner of the room, straight at the broken window - Idiot! Of course, the window! There's probably a fire escape! - and it growled again, the noise vibrating oddly in my ear. I shook my head out of reflex, only to have the creature's hand slam my head back down into the pillow and hold it there. I couldn't turn to look at it fully, but I watched it from the corner of my eye.  
Watched as it - he - pulled his lips back from unnaturally sharp teeth in an unmistakable snarl. _My, what an ugly, bloodstained smile you have, grandma!_  
I couldn't help it - I started giggling. I was terrified, my body frozen stiff, and all I could do was laugh helplessly. The snarl faded briefly, then it - he showed his teeth again, head canting to the side. Lord, my hysterics had confused him. Maybe I could confuse his ass off of me.  
For that matter, why was the damn thing just sitting on me? I should have been dead before I even woke up. This made no sense.  
Maybe I was already dead and in Hell, and my punishment was to lay here for eternity with a Hunter sitting on me.  
The idea sent me into further laughter that choked off on a sob. The hand immediately withdrew from my head, and the rest of the Hunter followed suit. I didn't move, but I could feel his weight on the bed behind me.

* * *

Crier? Crier! Off, off off off move now now now!  
Not ragescreaming. No moving.  
Crier? No. No no no.  
Not Other.  
No Crier.  
Live thing.  
Fruit... thing.  
Fruitcrier? No.  
Not moving.  
Live thing... Hurt? No bloodsmell. Not hurt.  
Dying? No deathsmell.  
Fearsmell. Foodsmell. Food? Yes. Yes yes ... No!  
Nest. Mine mine mine.  
Live thing in nest. Mine? Mine. In nest. Mine mine mine.

* * *

The Hunter seemed perfectly content to crouch behind me, making odd keening noises, so I began to slowly uncurl from my shrimp-like position. I almost succeeded in sitting up before he snarled, lunging forward to put our noses about two inches apart. Lord, those teeth were close to my throat. I froze, staring at the end of the Hunter's nose. I had discovered that his mouth was unsettling and his eyes... Well, what was left of them wasn't all that pleasant to look at. At least, from what I could see behind the hood and the hair.  
He seemed frozen in that position, poised just in front of my face. I finally remembered how to breathe, and how to blink.  
I noticed the Hunter had a nose ring, a delicate silver hoop through his left nostril. Odd, the details you noticed when scared out of your mind."I'm just sitting up, psycho." I whispered - the best my voice would do. "Just... Nice and slow-like. See? Don't eat me, dude. I really don't feel like being a hors d'œuvre." As I spoke, I tried sliding slowly up into a sitting position - my back was killing me from the awkward position that he'd pinned me in - and his dead snarl turned into a low, warning growl. I froze, not even breathing. I really couldn't breathe - my heart had taken up residence in my throat. The Hunter seemed to vibrate with tension, then his gaze flicked to the side, looking at the gun I'd left on the end table. On the other side of the bed. I couldn't go for it now. But...  
While his attention was diverted, I gave an all-mighty shove, pitching the Hunter off to the side and scrabbling off the bed, having a moment of sheer panic when the sheet tangled around my legs, I half ran, half tumbled into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind me and throwing the bolt.  
I slid to the floor, panting, then jumped about a mile in the air when the Hunter hit the door from the other side with an almighty crash. I was amazed the door didn't just fall in right then and there. I scrambled to my feet, grabbing a couple of towels and yanking my still somewhat soggy clothes down off the shower rod, rolling them up in the towels to suck as much of the water as I could out. "Shit, shit, oh shit, oh shit..." I had a little mantra going there as I struggled into my clothes. I'm sorry, but I just didn't want to die in a bathrobe. At least I had some form of fighting chance if I could actually run and move about without worrying about the robe getting hung up on stuff.  
"Oh, fuck." I muttered when my brain caught up with me. My gun was still outside. I might as well have just kept the robe and died. I had no way to defend myself. Even the shower rod seemed pretty damn attached to the wall, and I just couldn't sit in here. The thing would come through the door eventually. If a normal zombie could punch through a steel door given enough time, well, I'd hate to see how short of a time it took that damn Hunter's claws.  
What was bothering me, however, was after that one attack on the door, there had been utter silence from the other room. Maybe he was gone?

* * *

Unf! Ow. Pain pain pain. Ribs. Livething... sharp knees.  
Live thing.. gone?  
Angry.  
Angry, angry... Other room!  
Can't get in. Rage.  
Sit and wait, sit and wait. Live thing has to come out. No food in there.  
Wait wait wait.

* * *

After about thirty minutes of sitting on the bathroom floor, shivering in my still-damp clothes, I stood and went to the door, meaning to simply crack it open. However, the second I turned the knob, the door flew back into me with enough force to wind me, then I was hit again with what seemed to be a man-sized Mack truck. I landed on the bathroom floor with enough force to crack the back of my head on the tile. Spots flickered in my vision. Half-dazed, I went to shove whatever it was that was on top of me off so that I could get up. Whatever it was shoved me down with more force, claws digging into my shoulders while it let out a low shrieking noise. Oh. That's right. The Hunter.  
My head hurt too damn much for me to care at this point. It still hadn't killed me. I blinked at him until he swam into focus. All three of him. "God... Damn it, stop moving." I went to push at the middle Hunter, still intent on getting him off of me, and I misjudged the distance. Instead of shoving him off, I knocked his hood back. I only got a brief glimpse of brownish, dusty hair and a single eye before he screamed and leaped off of me, scrabbling to yank the hood back over his face. He crouched by the tub, snarling at me.  
I sat up, immediately regretting it as my head sent bolts of pain through my eyes and down my spine. I groaned, cradling my face in my hands. The Hunter hissed at me, scooting a little bit closer. "Shut up, psycho," I snapped, "Or eat me and be done with it."  
I then heard the strangest noise I'd ever thought to hear coming out of one of the infected. It was a harsh, almost cough-like noise. It took me a few seconds, but I realized the Hunter was _laughing_ at me. I looked over at him, incredulous, to find him sitting on his haunches not two feet away, looking amused as Hell.  
Since when do the Infected have enough of a brain left to find something funny?

* * *

Bloodsmell. Live thing... hurt.  
Light! Light! Live thing moved the covering! Hide eyes, hide hide hide. Pain!  
Angry. Angry angry angry. Eat livething. No.  
Live thing is brave.  
Entertaining. Amused.  
Keep the live thing.  
Where is the livething hurt? Bloodsmell. Where?  
Head. Back of head.

* * *

I froze as the Hunter shifted up behind me, then yelped as he buried his nose in my hair, immediately finding the wound. I tried to pull away, only to have sharp-tipped fingers dig into my shoulders and drag me back.  
I gritted my teeth and sat still as he sifted through my hair, scalding hot breath on the back of my neck. I was most definitely not prepared for what he did next – he started licking the wound clean of blood. I knew I was immune, I'd been bitten and scratched by enough of those zombies, but this was just bizarre. He wasn't biting or growling, just licking. Oddly, it reminded me of my cat when she had kittens, always obsessively cleaning them.  
Any time I tried to twitch away, he dug his fingers harder into my shoulders, relaxing when I stopped moving.  
I must have sat there for a good fifteen minutes until he finally made an odd rattling noise and moved away. I watched him for a few minutes as he crouched by the door, staring at me. Then he turned and crawled into the bedroom. I'd never seen a Hunter move upright. The crawling just seemed so unnatural to me.  
He made that low scream from the room and I saw his eye catch the weak light from the bathroom, reflecting a dirty yellowish-orange. Was he calling me? A low thud on the floor as he hopped off the bed and walked back to the bathroom door answered my question.  
Fucking weird Hunter. I wasn't going to complain because he hadn't eaten me yet, but this was just bizarre.  
I staggered to my feet, swaying before I caught myself on the bathroom vanity. Lord, my head hurt. Something bumped against my legs, and I looked down to find the Hunter crouched just beside me, looking up at me with his teeth slightly bared. Oddly enough, he seemed more curious than angry. God, was I seriously already able interpret his facial expressions?  
Eventually I made my way to the bed and sat down. I knew I shouldn't go to sleep, not with a head injury, so I propped myself up with a pillow between myself and the headboard, knees pulled up to my chest, with the blankets over them. I went back to cradling my head in my hands.  
What I really wanted to do was move that wardrobe and run like Hell, but that wasn't going to happen. I'd probably pass out and fall down sixteen flights of stairs into a fucking Boomer's mouth or something. Or land on a Witch.  
How bad can things be when hanging out with one of the most dangerous zombies seemed preferable to being alone and heavily armed?  
I looked up, planning to reach for my gun, only to discover it wasn't there. I knew I'd left it on the end table, and I didn't think the Hunter had knocked into the table.  
I slid right back out of that bed, intent on finding my gun – only to have myself shoved back down by the Hunter, who put his face to mine and snarled again. I bared my teeth right back at him – what did I have to lose, really? – and made my own snarling noise, hoping to get the point across, even though I probably sounded like a sick kitten.  
His single eye widened, then he pressed down on top of me, snarling again, this time ending it in a scream that sounded all-too-familiar to me. It was that warning, I'm-about-to-eat-you scream.  
I went into survival mode, flailing and shoving with all of my might. I did not want to be eaten. God damn it where was my gun?  
Unfortunately, the Hunter wouldn't budge. He wasn't attacking me, but he was pinning me with his whole body, with me half-on, half-off the bed, bent at an awkward angle, with him snarling in my face. He screamed again, and I, frustrated, screamed right back at him and shoved again, as hard as I could. Amazingly, I actually pushed him back. He lunged again, and I rolled out of the way just as he landed on the bed. Head swimming, dizzy from all of the motion, I still found the energy to jump on him, putting a knee in his kidney and using my forearm to pin his neck down against the bed. I growled into his ear, the only language he seemed to understand, punctuating it with, "I told you my head fucking hurts, you prick."

* * *

Pinned? Pinned. What why how?  
Angry, angry angry angry. Pinned.  
Livething pinned me. Livething … dominant? No!  
Rage! Move move move move get it off get it off!  
Can't move. Back. Pain pain pain. Hiss.  
Livething holds on too hard. Pain pain pain.  
Kill killkillkill. Can't. Pinned. Rage! Angry!  
Move move move please move.  
Won't attack. Pinned. Lost fight. Can't attack. Pleasepleaseplease move.  
Embarrassed. What is embarrassed? Shame. Pinned by livething.  
Surrender.

* * *

I had to hold on tight while the Hunter wriggled around like a mad thing under me, then he suddenly went still, all the resistance going out of his body. Did I seriously just win some sort of arm-wrestling match with this thing?  
I slowly let go, sliding off of his back, twitching slightly as my stomach caught against something sticking out of his back pocket. I snagged it before I stepped away. The Hunter still didn't move.  
I looked down at what I had in my hand – a wallet, old brown leather, battered as Hell and duct-taped along the bottom edge. Apparently it was well-loved, and the duct tape was reassuring, as the Hunter himself had a distinct lack of duct tape on him. I took a moment to study him while he was motionless: A dark grey hoodie under what appeared to be a black pea coat, snug dark blue jeans and – I actually laughed – he was wearing Doc Martens boots. Flashback to the 90s, there, I'd recognize those kind of boots anywhere. Oh, and there was the duct tape I was missing. One of his boots was taped around the toe. Perhaps the sole had tried to come off.  
He shifted as I laughed, raising his head and turning to look at me. He hissed and I tensed, waiting for him to come flying at me and maybe, oh, eat my face. I took another step back, almost to the bathroom again, but the Hunter didn't attack. He merely stared at me, then gave a pointed look to the bed before turning his back on me and collapsing into a heap of limbs and clothes on the far side of the bed.  
I walked gingerly back to the bed, sitting down even more gingerly. He made that grumbling noise again, but didn't acknowledge me beyond that. I resumed my sitting-curled-up position, only to discover that the Hunter was laying on the blankets. I tugged gently at them, hoping to get the point across without pissing off Mr. Clawed-and-Toothy. He grunted, but continued to ignore me. Fed up after about two minutes, I yanked. Hard. I gained about six inches of sheet and a baleful glare before the Hunter shifted around so that he was under the blanket and I was free to get my own covers.  
I sat there, watching him until the Hunter's breath eased and most of the tension went out of his body. I glanced over at the wardrobe, but quickly gave that up as a lost cause, and there was no way in Hell I was going out that window. I could hear crying outside. The deep, mournful wailing of a Witch. Nope. Inside with the Hunter it was.  
I settled down, running my fingers over the battered old wallet. I glanced over at the Hunter again to make sure he was still asleep – going through someone's stuff just seemed wrong, even if they had been reduced to something equivalent of a rabid... jaguar, maybe. Satisfied, I opened the wallet to find seventy-five dollars in cash, a couple of credit cards, some business cards, a few receipts, and a driver's license. It was the license that interested me the most. I pulled it out to study it in the dim light filtering from the one working bulb in the bathroom, squinting until I could make out the picture. It was obviously the Hunter, even though he was much changed now. Thinner, and, of course, half-blind. "Cristan Wight," I murmured, reading the name on the license. Apparently, the Infected beside me was twenty-eight years old and nearly six foot five. I blinked, then stared at the gangly form under the covers. I'd never seen him upright and I had a hard time believing he was that tall, though with how long his arms and legs were... maybe.  
I sighed, sliding the license back into the wallet and rummaging some more. I found a business card that interested me, holding it in the light, it actually turned out be a card for a parkour group. Parkour... That sounded familiar.  
It took a few minutes for me to remember that was a fancy word for people who essentially tried to commit suicide in creative ways, bouncing off of walls and thirty story buildings and shit. No wonder he had turned into a Hunter, it suited him.  
I continued digging through the wallet and, behind the money, I found a much-folded piece of paper. Intrigued, I unfolded it.  
"Oh, you poor man." I whispered as I looked at the photograph in my hand. The Hunter – Cristan stood there with his arm around a pretty-looking young woman, and in her arms was a baby. It was easy to tell by the care that the photograph had been wedged into the wallet and his posture in the picture that this wasn't him taking a picture with his sister and a new neice or nephew, this was... a family. His family.  
I scooted, then leaned over the sleeping Hunter – stupid move, I know – to peer at his hands. Yep. He was wearing a plain silver band on his left ring finger. Poor guy had had a wife and at least one kid before the world ended. He growled, stirring, and I withdrew, folding the photo and sliding it back in the wallet before I set it aside, laying down and rolling back to stare at the ceiling.


	2. On The Move

(Usual disclaimer applies. L4D is not mine, I make no profit. Cristan and company, however, belong to me.  
YAY line breaks. Here's hoping they stay. Nothing else seems to..)

* * *

"_Wasted again, any sign of pain will fade. Blooddrunk! You call me insane? Degenerate blooddrunk with a razor blade."_  
_- Children Of Bodom: Blooddrunk  
_

* * *

Nrggh. Wake up. Wake up wake up up something's wrong!  
Noise. Sssh, is that livething? No!  
Crier! Crier in window!  
Crier in nestroom!  
Sssh, quiet, quiet. Need to get out.  
Door's blocked. No! Sh, sh, don't upset the Crier.  
Get the livething. Can't leave bravething. Keep the bravething. Sssh, sssh.

* * *

I was woken up from what had to be a coma by the Hunter biting my arm. Not hard, just enough to hurt. I gasped, swiping at him with my free hand only to have him grab me, making a low, quiet hissing noise. He repeated the noise, then turned his head towards the window.  
That's when I became aware of the low, mournful crying. I'd heard it the night before outside the window, but now... Oh shit. The Witch had gotten up when the sun came up, looking for somewhere dark to bawl her eyeballs out. She was standing just inside the window, her hands over her face, weeping uncontrollably. One look at those dagger-like fingers had me just about peeing myself. How the hell were we supposed to get out of the room?  
I glanced over at the wardrobe, and the Hunter followed my gaze. The way it was tilted, if we could get it upright, there would be just enough room to open the door... By about six to eight inches. Malnutrition by zombie apocalypse came in handy sometimes, I was about twenty pounds less than usual. I could fit.  
I slid out of the bed, snagging the wallet and putting it in my pocket on the way. I tiptoed to the wardrobe, keeping an eye on the Witch. She'd ignore us as long as we didn't upset her. I'd had to outrun one of those bitches once, and believe me, it wasn't fun. The only thing that had stopped her was me ducking behind a Boomer just as it went off, sending the zombie horde after her.  
I squeezed myself in the little space between the door and the wardrobe, using my back to attempt to push the thing upright. The Hunter appeared beside me a moment later, staring at me before he squeezed in beside me, pushing me to the side.  
The wardrobe was righted with an all-mighty crash. The Witch gasped, staring at us. I froze, hoping she'd ignore the fact that we were there, when she set up a steady growl. Oh God damn, we had to get out of here.  
I struggled with the deadbolt on the door, cursing that the thing just didn't want to cooperate. It seemed to take forever to get my fingers to work on it, but it was probably closer to thirty seconds before I could yank the door open and squeeze my way through, turning to wait on the Hunter. He tried to wriggle through the door, but the space wasn't quite wide enough for him.  
He snarled, then heaved, pitching the wardrobe over completely, and diving out the now wide-open door. This was immediately followed by an irate scream, and the Witch came flying out after him, arms held out in front of her to impale whichever one of us was closer. The Hunter's eyes widened before he turned tail and ran, outstripping me easily as he headed for the window at the end of the hallway. He threw himself against it, catching himself on the sill as the glass shattered from the velocity of the impact.  
I nearly ran into him, skidding to a halt as I realized we were on the end of the hall lacking a staircase or elevator – and the Witch was less than ten feet behind me, still coming after us and screaming at the top of her lungs.  
I didn't have much of a chance to make up my mind as to what I was doing, as the Hunter grabbed me and flung both of us out the window.  
I don't think I've ever screamed so loud in my life. I somehow wound up clinging to the Hunter's back in midair, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist as hard as I could. We landed on the next roof over – about fifty feet down – with a bone-jarring thud, and the Hunter turned around to watch as the Witch plummeted out of the window onto the pavement below. He made a satisfied snorting noise, then took off at a surprisingly quick crawl over the rooftop, with me still attached like a lamprey. I don't think I could have let go if I wanted to, my limbs seemed welded to him by terror, even though the rest of me was shaking like a leaf.  
We came to the edge of the roof, and he looked down over the edge, letting out a harsh scream, then cocking his head to the side as he listened to the echoes. He then crouched down further, muscles tensing. "Oh don't you fucking daaaaa–!" I screamed as he launched himself off of the roof, landing on the next one down, then jumping from that one to the street below. There were a few zombies milling around, but he ignored them except to scream at them when they approached, which, actually, was an amazing zombie repellant.  
We made it all the way up to the paved street above old River Street with me still riding piggyback, which must have looked strange as Hell, but hanging on for dear life seemed better than the alternative – run after him and hope the shit he climbed on was accessible to normal humans, as well.  
He crouched down to the point that my knees scraped the pavement, sniffing at spent ammunition on the ground, then glancing towards downtown. He shrieked, then took off at top speed, bouncing first onto a car, then up onto a lightpole, shimmying up it to leap to a nearby wall, which he somehow managed to spider-climb up, windowsill to windowsill. We continued over the roofs til we ran out of accessible places to jump across, at which point he merely jumped the six stories to the ground – enter me screaming like a little girl again – and stood upright, efficiently dumping me off of his back.  
I scrambled to my feet, wishing for the nth time that I had my gun and my pack – I had left my food, my first aid supplies, and everything else I owned in that room when we left, and I still had no idea what had happened to my gun.  
He shrieked to get my attention, and I found myself nose to chest with him. Okay, his license wasn't lying, when he actually stood up, he was a tall motherfucker. I craned my head back to peer up at him, and he hissed, jerking his head towards the square and sniffing again, doglike. I turned to notice a massive pile of bodies – all infected – and bullet casings everywhere.  
"Survivors?" I wondered out loud, not expecting an answer. I was thus surprised when the Hunter stretched his arm out and pointed down one of the side streets, and I could have cried for joy. There was the spray painted symbol for a safe house.  
Had this been a week ago, I would have simply hauled ass, reckless, for the safe house, but now... I was a little more careful. I searched around the square with the Hunter shadowing me until I found something to use as a weapon – a discarded, bloodstained baseball bat. Explained why some of the dead zombies had dents in their heads.  
Thus – pitifully – armed, I headed towards the safe house. The Hunter crabwalked ahead of me, he really didn't seem to like being upright at all, then stopped dead about thirty feet down the alley, screaming in warning before launching himself forward into the shadows. I ran after him, hoping he hadn't just decided to eat a live person, and ran right into a horde of about fifty zombies.  
"Fuck!" I shouted, swinging at the rabid little monsters with my bat – which, by the way, sucked when stuck in quarters _this_ close – but I was quickly overcome by biting, clawing, batshit insane people.

* * *

Food foodfoodfood.  
Bloodsmell. Food!  
Bravething! Where is bravething? No!  
MINE!  
Killkillkillkill. Destroy. Don't touch bravething! My bravething!  
Angry! Rage! Rage rage rage rage rage.  
Killkillkill! Bite shred kill kill kill.  
Bravething is MINE! Mine mine mine mine _mine mine mine mine kill kill kill_!

* * *

I was stuck under a pile of wriggling, shrieking, biting things, just struggling to keep them away from my throat and stomach, when there was an unholy racket from outside the pile. Honestly, it sounded like a banshee had stuck her hand on a hot stove. Then the zombies began exploding.  
Well, they didn't really explode, but the Hunter ripped into them with such force that they might as well have. Blood and various body parts flew everywhere, and the Hunter himself was a fair impression of a homicidal version of Taz from Looney Toons.  
I struggled to my feet, gasping as I felt the pain of what felt like several dozen bite wounds, but that didn't stop me from joining back in the melee, my bat was much more effective at bashing heads in when there were already so many dead. We had the alley cleared within a matter of minutes.  
I slumped against a wall, looking down at myself, already missing the working shower back in the hotel, but there was no way we could go back after coming this far. It was probably already overrun by now, anyway.  
The Hunter crouched in front of me and shrieked, jerking his head to the side. I glanced up to see the wonderful red, steel door not fifty feet away at the end of the alley. I groaned, then pushed myself to my feet. Hopefully any other survivors hadn't stripped the place of its mandatory first aid and weapons stock.  
I stuck my head inside, making sure nothing was lurking inside – Lord, it's not fun walking in to find a Charger in a safe room – when the Hunter just hopped right in, sniffed the air, then turned to look at me. I decided that meant it was safe, and followed, slamming the steel door behind me and barricading it.  
I'd have to undo the barricade when we left, leaving the way open for any other survivors. It was the polite thing to do.  
The Hunter seemed intrigued by the room, and he was sniffing like a mad thing – probably smelling the other survivors that had come this way. Maybe, if I was lucky, he was like a dog and could lead me to them, providing that they hadn't been killed yet.  
Personally, I was far more interested in two things: the first aid kits on the table, and the box full of random clothes. I glanced over at the Hunter. The safe room was just that: a single room stocked with weapons, ammo, and medicine... and a mattress on the floor.  
I so did not feel comfortable changing clothes with a guy in the room, even if he was infected and probably had all the brains of a carnivorous cabbage at this point, but, I wasn't raised like that. You didn't take your clothes off in front of people. But, lord, I was gonna stink if I kept these gory rags on.  
How the Hell do you ask a Hunter to turn his back long enough for you to change clothes? I pondered this question as I dug through the box, coming up with a t-shirt, tank top, and a pair of jeans – all, thankfully, in or close to my size. I'd learned that layering my shirts meant that they lasted longer, it was harder to rip a hole in two layers than just one, and it provided a minimal, but noticeable protection against zombie teeth.  
"Hunter." I called to him, only to be thoroughly ignored. I sighed, then decided to try something: "Cristan." I said, and the Hunter froze, turning to look at me with his one eye wide.

* * *

Cristan? Cristancristancristan. What is Cristan? Why familiar?  
Cristan... Name. My name! Mineminemine all mine.  
What's a name? Name is... name. Name name name. Name is me. Who I am. My name.  
Name is what I am called. I am... Cristan.  
Bravething must have name. What? How do I know what to call bravething?

* * *

He was upright again, bent over enough to be eye to eye with me, he made that low shrieking noise again, I realized it was him being curious. This was the exact opposite of what I had intended. I crossed my arms after setting the bundle of clothing on the table. "Cristan, do you think you could turn around for a few minutes?" I asked, getting a blank, non-comprehending stare in return. Well shit. I groaned, then reached up and took him by the shoulders, turning him around and shoving him towards the far corner. He dug his feet in and screeched, turning back around to hiss at me. I bared my teeth and pointed emphatically at the corner. He frowned, tilting his head to the side. I repeated the gesture again, emphasizing it with a shove in that general direction. He balked, pushing me back a step.  
I growled, then reached up as if I was going to flick his hood off of his head. He shrieked, then finally complied, walking to the corner, looking over his shoulder at me. I pointed again, putting the other hand on my hip. He frowned, then turned to look at the wall.  
"Stay there." I said, then, working as fast as I could, I turned my back on him, shucked my clothes and went about doctoring up the bite marks up and down my arms, legs and torso. I had gotten about halfway through when a curious-Hunter screech made me jump about a foot in the air before I grabbed the nearest article of clothing and clutched it to my chest , glaring at the Hunter over my shoulder. "Turn the fuck around, now!" I yelled, grabbing up one of the first aid packs on the table and chunking it at him.

* * *

Why am I in the corner? What why?  
Bravething is strange.  
Bored. What is bravething doing?  
No covering? Oh! No- Ow ow ow pain throwing things!  
Corner corner corner corner!  
Embarrased. No no no bad bad bad. Why is it bad? Just skin.  
Oh. Skin. Bad to show. Badbadbad.  
Bravething isn't like the Crier. Must stay covered, like me.  
Bad not to be covered. Badbadbad.  
Sorry sorry sorry sorry. Bad Cristan. Badbadbadbad. Whine. Shame shame shame.  
Stare at wall, floor, something. Not at bravething. No covering. Bad bad bad.

* * *

I was patently amazed when it only took about point three seconds for the Hunter – Cristan, to realize why I was angry at him. You could see it written on his face, well, before he curled up in the corner with his arms over his head. I'd never actually seen a Hunter look ashamed – well, not that I had seen the Hunters be anything but psychotic, people-eating leapers, but still.  
I turned back and finished bandaging myself up, then wiped most of the blood on my skin off with one of those little sterile wipes that most people use on a baby's butt. I then got dressed as quickly as was humanly possible. "Cristan, you're fine now." I said, and he glanced gingerly over his shoulder before turning completely around, crawling right up to me and... sniffing me. He hissed, then made a deep grumbling noise, apparently he didn't like how the clothes smelled. Oh well, he'd have to get used to it.  
I leaned against the counter as he continued to investigate my clothes, then moved on to resume his search of the room. He was like a cat introduced to a new environment – he had to look at _everything._ I noticed that he kept one arm clamped to his side, and frowned. "Cristan, come here." He looked up at the mention of his name, and I beckoned him over. He scuttled back over to me, sitting back on his haunches and staring up at me. He looked kind of miffed that I kept interrupting him.  
I knelt, moving his arm out of the way so that I could see what he was protecting – a wet spot on the black coat that was slowly growing bigger. I knew from experience that zombies could get a hold of you with their teeth and rip skin without actually ripping the clothes. It was rare, but not impossible. Fabric tended to be stretchier than skin.  
I picked up one of the remaining first aid packs and started undoing the buttons on his coat, only to have him screech and tip backwards in an attempt to get away from me. I growled, using the fact that he'd overbalanced to my advantage: I sat on his legs and shoved his arms aside, holding them down and baring my teeth at him. He went still, staring at me like I'd grown a second head. "Shut up and be still, I don't want you bleeding to death on me." I snapped, pulling the kit back to me and unbuttoning the coat, shoving it aside. Then I had to deal with the zipper on his hoodie – which was stuck, and, remembering that he was light sensitive, I reached up and put a hand over his eyes, disovering that the gouged-out socket wasn't a wound anymore, the skin, while red and irritated looking, was dry and he didn't react in pain when I touched it. He flinched back a bit, though, probably because what I was doing blocked his vision, but that was the point. I kept the hand over his eyes as I pushed the sleeves of both coats down his shoulders. And suddenly found myself trying to stay on top of roughly a hundred and sixty pounds of panicking Hunter.  
I did the best pissed off screech that I could manage – remember me mentioning that I sounded like a sick kitten? Yeah – and knocked his hands out of the way with my free hand. He still wasn't trying to kill me, thankfully, just trying to move me. I eventually got him still again, though quivering like he was ready to jump at the next available opportunity. I finished divesting him of the coats, only to run into a T-shirt underneath them, covered in bloodstains of various shades of rust and brown – old and new. "Jesus, man, how do you stand layering up like this in _Georgia_?" I asked, even though I knew I wasn't going to get an answer. I struggled to keep his eyes covered while I pulled the T-shirt off – easier said than done, it was stuck to his skin in some places – and then I tossed the entire heap of clothing aside. I picked his hand up by the wrist, bringing it up to replace my hand, then repeated the process with his other hand. He was compliant now, probably because there wasn't a single shadowy place in the entire safe room and obeying me was his only option for keeping his eyes covered.  
I leaned back, regarding him. Yep. There was a nasty, bleeding bite wound on the right side of his torso, and a myriad of various cuts and scrapes over the rest of him, some of them looking self inflicted, but I supposed that when you got an itch and you had very sharp fingers – he really didn't have fingernails anymore, the ends of his fingers seemed to be nothing but claw, like the bone had grown into a point – things like this happened. I looked up at his face, then set to work on the wounds. Thank god for those little butterfly band-aid things, I could just imagine trying to give him stitches... Yeah, that would end badly.  
He hissed and jumped when I started in with the antiseptic, I merely growled at him and kept working, it wasn't like he could do much with me sitting on his legs, and his hands occupied with keeping himself from being blinded, anywho. I went over his entire upper body, bandaging up everything that looked like it wouldn't heal just fine on its own.  
Once finished, I stood up, pressing down on his shoulders to hopefully get the 'stay here dammit' point across. He didn't budge, so I figured the message got through. I went through the box again, coming up with a fresh T-shirt, which I pulled over his head, guiding his hands one at a time through the sleeves so that he wouldn't have to entirely uncover his face.  
There wasn't another hoodie or coat, though, so I helped him back into the old ones after blotting most of the blood out with a random shirt I pulled out of the box. Once I got him fully clothed again, I pulled the hood over his head and stepped back, leaning against the table again. He slowly lowered his hands, staring at me as if he was still seeing a second head somewhere.  
I watched as he moved around gingerly, testing the bandages, I supposed. He didn't hold his side anymore, at least. After a few minutes, he seemed satisfied that whatever I'd done hadn't messed with his ability to move, and he promptly flopped down onto the mattress, turning his back to me and curling up in a ball. Sleep time for the Hunter, I guess.

I stayed up a bit longer, having gotten into the weapons cache. I found a nice handgun and holster, and I spent a few minutes adjusting the holster so that I could wear it comfortably. It even had these neat little slots that let me carry extra clips. Score.  
A sawed off shotgun and shells were next, I stuffed them and another couple of first aid kits in a backpack I'd found under the table, then raided the cabinet in the room for food. I only turned up a handful of granola bars and a few bottles of water, but it was better than nothing. I munched on one of the granola bars while I put the others and all but one bottle of water in the backpack. Thus stocked up, I took a swig of the remaining bottle of water to wash down the granola bar, then went over to the mattress, laying down with my back to Cristan.  
There was only a measly sheet, but I really didn't need a lot of covers – Cristan gave off more heat than one of those little portable space heaters cranked on high. I figured he was running a constant fever due to the infection, or maybe it had altered him so that his natural body temperature was higher than that of a human's... Or maybe it was all the damn clothes he wore. I didn't know, I was just thankful, because otherwise I would have been a human Popsicle.  
As I drifted, I told myself I wouldn't make the mistake of sacking out as deeply as I had in the hotel. I didn't want to wake up to a not-as-friendly-as-Cristan Hunter sitting on me, or another Witch standing in the corner. God, it was amazing I'd survived this long.


	3. Survivors

((If I owned Left 4 Dead, the Witches would wear clothes. Unfortunately, I don't own that particular franchise.))

* * *

_"The gaping wounds hemorrhaging the blood from which they feast. Eat us alive, consume to feed a hunger with no end."_  
_-Trivium: Down From The Sky  


* * *

_

_Cristan? Cristan! What's wrong with you? Cristan? Baby, are you okay?_  
_What's wrong with you? Cristan, talk to me. What happened out the- Cristan! What's wrong with you – what are you doing? No, no, what are you – NO! Stop, please no no ngh–!_

* * *

I sat bolt upright as a scream reverberated around the safe room, looking around wildly with my gun drawn. I finally noticed that Cristan was sitting up next to me, curled into himself and panting heavily, eye wide, haunted looking. Did the infected have nightmares? I set the gun down, reaching over and touching him gently on the shoulder. He jerked violently, turning to look at me before making a low moaning noise and sliding into a tight ball on his side, shivering. I watched him for a few minutes, then laid back down. I didn't know what he had dreamed about, and I sure as Hell didn't know how to comfort him.

The next time I awoke, it was to find myself nose to nose with him. I grunted, then shoved him out of the way so that I could roll out of bed. Lord, but I missed coffee. He looked towards the door back to the hotel and hissed, I figured there was probably a horde about to start beating down the door.

I grabbed up my pack and gun, walking to the other door and disengaging the metal bar. I stepped outside and started walking, Cristan trailing after me.  
He seemed a lot more subdued today, not quite the bouncy, hyper, snarl-bite-claw-growl-hiss Hunter I was used to. I wondered again what it was that he had dreamed about.

The next few days were much of the same, I was woken up sometimes twice a night by Cristan's nightmares, and one time he actually lashed out at me, laying open four gashes on my arm when I went to touch him, to see if he was all right. My own fault, really, treating an infected like a normal person instead of something not far above a wild, carnivorous animal with daggers for fingers. He had looked instantly contrite, licking the blood off of my arm before I even had a chance to go for the first aid. Oddly enough, as I had noticed with the back of my head, things actually seemed to heal faster when he did that. Maybe it was some sort of mutation since the infected didn't have enough brainpower to do much more than lick their wounds. I sure couldn't picture a zombie picking up a first aid kit and bandaging themselves up.  
That, or maybe it was the fact that I cleaned wounds he'd gone after even more obsessively than normal, even if I was immune to the zombie-virus-thing, I didn't even want to consider what Cristan ate, or the last time he'd brushed his teeth.  
Cristan also proved to be a damn good tracker, and from what I could tell – which wasn't a whole Hell of a lot – we were making pretty good progress in catching up with the other survivors, the bodies they left behind seemed a lot fresher each day. God, it would be nice to have someone to talk to who could actually speak back. I'd caught myself several times communicating with Cristan in growls and screams without even considering actually using words. Just gestures and noises. If I kept that shit up, I'd probably start wearing a hoodie and bouncing off of walls, too.  
Well, actually, I was already sort of doing that. Keeping up with him while on the move involved a lot of climbing, though I would still ride piggy-back if we were going over rooftops or the like. I don't think I could ever bring myself to do some of the things that he did. For example: Jumping off of thirty story buildings to the twenty story one next door with a fifty foot gap. Don't ask me how he did it, especially with me on his back, but we hadn't missed yet. And if we had, well, I wouldn't be telling you this. I don't think even a Hunter could survive a thirty story free fall.

Cristan and I had been traveling together for about two weeks, and we were currently sitting on a rooftop around a little campfire I'd scraped together from the leaves, wood, and pieces of paper that littered the roof when I heard voices below. Cristan started growling low in his throat, creeping to the edge of the roof and peering down. He shrieked, and then ducked back quickly as bullets whizzed by where his head had been not two seconds before. Well, the survivors had found us.  
"We'll go to them in the morning." I said as I watched them from the roof. They were still looking around for Cristan, but since he'd gone silent, one shouted that he thought he'd hit the Hunter, and that they needed to set up camp since there wasn't a safe room here. The others – there were three of them in total – agreed, and they went into a low, one-story concrete building that had started life as a liquor store. It wasn't a bad place to choose, I thought, considering what kind of neighborhood this had once been, the glass was bullet proof and the door and windows had heavy metal bars over them. A few gunshots later and one of the men dumped the bodies of two zombies outside the door, and then they shut themselves in.

* * *

Go in the morning? Morning, morning. Daylight. Why?  
Food? Them? Yes... Perhaps.  
What is she thinking? She'll get me shot. Didn't she see them shoot at me?  
What is her name?  
I need to bring her around her own. Livethings. I don't like them. They'll shoot me.  
She won't let me eat them. Maybe if they shoot at me she will.  
I want to eat them. The Others don't taste good. Food, but not good food.

* * *

I watched as Cristan sat by the fire, apparently sulking. It was obvious that he didn't like the idea of going down to the other survivors, and I can't really say that I blamed him. But he had started walking upright lately, and his growls and shrieks weren't quite as frequent. He was actually getting pretty good at acting human, and could pass from a distance, as long as no one saw his face or his hands. This was gonna be a fun one to figure out: how to pass the Hunter off to humans who were used to shooting his kind on sight, or being eaten by them.  
"Its your own fault for screaming, Cris." I said, "If you hadn't screamed, then you wouldn't have gotten shot at."  
I was surprised when he snorted, raising his single eyebrow at me. Had... Had he seriously just understood what I was saying? I gaped at him for a few seconds, then tried again, "Can you understand me?" I asked, and was rewarded with a single nod. "Since when?" Shrug.  
I sat back, watching him over the flames until he finally crawled over to me and curled up around me. We now slept curled up in an odd little human-Hunter pretzel, it seemed to comfort him, and I went with it because the places we slept often didn't have blankets. Now that I thought about it, he only seemed to have his nightmares when he rolled away from me in his sleep. I sighed, then curled up against him, wondering when I had become comfortable only when I had a potentially dangerous – scratch that, extremely dangerous creature wrapped around me. There was nothing romantic about it, at least not from my end, and I didn't think from him, either, it was a platonic arrangement, mutually beneficial. We felt better when the other was nearby.  
I drifted off to sleep with Cristen's nose buried against the back of my neck.

"Okay, Cristan, over here. See that little store down there? We need to go there." I said the next morning, pointing to a little clothing store across the street. He walked up beside me to look, then turned to me and tilted his head. I gestured to him, "You're covered in blood, and its pretty obvious, even to me, that it's from you eating the other infected. We need to get you some new clothes, and get most of the blood off of you." He hissed at me, pulling his hood further over his face. I crossed my arms, "Besides, you're really starting to stink."  
He made an affronted noise, and I merely raised an eyebrow at him, "Old blood doesn't smell good, I don't care what you think."  
I started for the staircase back down into the building without waiting for him, knowing he'd come along anyway.

* * *

I stink? Did she say that I stunk? At least I don't smell like food.  
Rrrgh. Follow her. She'll get herself killed going off alone.  
Not having a covering is not an option.  
Won't let her put me in something without a covering.  
No no no.  
I like my coat.  
I don't stink.  
Silly girl.

* * *

We made it through the building without much incident – Cristan eviscerated the only zombie in the place before I even had time to aim my gun – and we went to the store. It seemed strange to me to be just grabbing stuff off of the rack without paying for it, but well, these things happen when the world ends.  
I found myself a couple of changes of clothing and a hoodie, then went about finding Cristan some clothes. I was glad that this wasn't a primarily male or female store, it seemed pretty even, and it was actually a little classier than I was expecting for the neighborhood – no massive designs on the butts of the jeans, very little in the way of metallic fabrics, which was awesome because anything shiny attracted the infected, and I just didn't want to deal with that.  
After convincing him to cover his eyes long enough to read the tags on his coat and hoodie, I found him another dark grey hoodie, and a coat very similar to the one he was wearing, except that it only had four buttons instead of the six typical to a pea coat, and it was more a very dark charcoal color than solid black.  
Then I pretty much had to give the poor guy a wedgie just to read the size sewn into the back of his pants – why he wore pants that made me think of those little teenagers with too much eyeliner and their hair all in their face was beyond me, though I supposed less loose material when performing acrobatics was a good thing – and I managed to find two pairs of jeans in his size, that seemed like they were snug enough that he wouldn't bitch too much. Indigo and black, respectively. Toss in a couple of plain black t-shirts for him and some underwear and a pair of shoes for each of us and we were good to go.  
"Come on, this place still has its lights on, so I'm betting that house over there still has power, and hopefully running water. There's no way I'm putting on clean clothes without being able to get some of this grime off of me first." I said, leading him out of the store. "Keep an eye on them – they still haven't come out of that liquor store, I don't think, and I don't want to lose them again." I added, nodding towards where the other survivors were camped, then ducking inside the door of the house.  
My arms were full, so I let Cristan deal with the zombies in his singularly messy way, then pretty much had to physically haul him up to the bathroom. I was right – there was still running water. The second time in this adventure that I had lucked out so nicely.  
"You first, Cristan." He just stared at me blankly, so I had to ask, "Do you even remember how to shower? Please tell me that you do." Cristan tilted his head, glancing at the shower, then back to give me a confused look.  
"Oh, dear God." I groaned, then gestured to him, "It's dim in here, you'll survive without your hoodie. Strip." I said, and then wondered how the Hell he got his eyebrow up that high. "Cristan, you stink, and I only hope to have to shove your ass in there for you to get your memory back on this, I'm no more pleased by the idea than you are, but if we go up to them and you have blood all over your face and pieces of zombie stuck in your teeth, we're going to get shot. Strip. And don't make me do this, I had a four year old brother _and_ a rottweiler-type-mutt, believe me, I have experience at giving baths to resistant creatures." This said, I put my hands on my hips and waited.  
He stared at me for a few seconds, then growled, shrugging off the coat and hoodie. As he did this, I scavenged around for the washcloths and towels, finding them in the bathroom closet. He waited, half-dressed, until I turned on the shower, getting it to a temperature I could stand – hot, but not scalding – and then I turned back to him, gesturing to the pants and boots. "Those have to go, too." I turned my head as he complied, then just stood there, kind of hunched into himself. Lord, this was not going to be fun.  
I pushed him towards the shower, and met more and more resistance the closer he got to the water, until I actually got him in the tub – where it got messy, fast. It was actually worse than getting my dog clean, because Cristan was a lot more adept at acting like a panicked windmill. I actually had to find a way to pin him to the shower wall while I scrubbed at his hair and avoided the claws. Anyone outside would have thought that I was killing him with the amount that he was screaming and shrieking.  
"Hold your breath, Cristan, or else you're gonna be inhaling water." I gave him a couple of seconds of warning before I stuck his head under the shower to rinse the shampoo out – his hair was so nasty that the water actually turned an odd gray color when I stuck his head in. "Yeugh." I muttered, then had to wrangle almost six and a half feet of slippery, pissed off Hunter when he inhaled water. I pulled him back out, then forced him to endure two more hair-scrubbings before the water finally ran clear and I wasn't running into random clumps of dirt and blood and God-knew-what-else anymore.  
By now, I was standing in the shower and thoroughly soaked as well, glad that I'd gotten myself new clothes and hadn't changed yet, because these wouldn't be dry for hours. I started in on scrubbing his face, noticing that he'd finally calmed down a bit, though he was still looking mutinous.  
I had gotten his face and upper shoulders clean before he made that peculiar growling noise he used when he was trying to get my attention. I looked up from what I was doing, only to have the washcloth removed from my grasp and myself pushed unceremoniously out of the tub with the curtain yanked shut as soon as I was standing on the tile again. "Jesus, it took you long enough." I muttered, then went into the other room to wait and shoot anything that came through that door.  
"Lord, that was awkward." I said to myself, peering out the window at the liquor store, which was finally showing some signs of life. The people were sitting around a little fire by the window, apparently working on breakfast. I got so sucked into watching the routine of the normal, blessedly uninfected people that I didn't hear Cristan come in the room, and nearly jumped a mile in the air when he touched my shoulder. I turned around to find him relatively dry and garbed in a towel-skirt. Huh, his hair actually had a lot more red in it than I originally thought. "Your clothes are laid out on the bed, and I will beat you if you try to put your old ones back on. Remember to take off the tags, or you'll look silly. And don't you dare come in the bathroom." I said, grabbing up my clothes and walking by him.  
I think I beat a world record somewhere for fastest, most thorough shower ever taken – most of it was because Cristan had drained the hot water tank on an epic scale and I was freezing my ass off, but I didn't feel safe here, I kept waiting for a zombie to come flying through she shower curtain.  
Clean and dressed again, I walked out to find Cristan taking stuff out of the pockets of his old coat and transferring them to the new. He seemed particularly pleased with the discovery of an inside pocket. A little mp3 player and headphones went in there, along with what had to be the most stale, beat up pack of cigarettes on Earth and a little Bic lighter. He went to searching in the pockets of his old pants, making a distressed noise when he turned up nothing. It took me a second to remember that I had his wallet, and I dug it out of the pocket of my old jeans, "Here, Cristan, this is yours. I've had it a while." I said, handing it to him. He nodded to me, then slid it into his back pocket. I stepped back and looked him over, from the new hoodie to the shiny new boots. "You good in that?" I asked, and was rewarded with another nod. "Try not to rip anything apart in those for a while, all right? Go with a weapon even if you don't like it. You pounce and eat something in front of them and they're liable to shoot you."  
He growled at me, but didn't seem that perturbed. I followed him out of the house.

The people were still at the liquor store, and I decided that after Cristan's screaming bloody murder in the shower, we would be better off to circle behind the store instead of coming straight at them from the house. That may set of some alarms.  
We went down a few houses, then back up the main street, walking straight up to the liquor store. "Hey!" I called, about fifteen feet from the doorway, "Anyone there?"  
There was nothing for about ten seconds, then I saw a woman poke her head up above the windowsill, after that the door popped right open and the woman and a man came out, each with guns trained on us. I touched my fingertips to the back of Cristan's hand when he stiffened, warning him not to do anything too Hunter-ey.  
"Good morning," I said, then gestured to the store, "I noticed the fire and movement in the window, I was hoping to find someone alive." I added a polite smile, then looked to the guns, "Though if we're intruding, we can be on our way."  
The woman's face cracked in a smile, and sunlight glinted off of a ring through her lip. I noticed she actually had multiple facial piercings. "No, no. Just as long as you're not one of those scavengers." She said, and I shook my head, "No ma'am, just the two of us, I promise. I ain't got much to contribute, just a granola bar or two and some water, but I thought it'd be best to try and see if I could team up with y'all. Safety in numbers, you know? If that's cool?" I shifted from foot to foot with my best I-am-so-harmless smile in place. My southern accent and grammar got worse and worse the more nervous I was, and that guy pointing the shotgun at Cristan, and Cristan's pending reaction sure had me more nervous than I could remember being in a long time.  
"Y'all got names?" The man asked, and I nodded, "I'm Lily Lynn, and this is Cristan Wight." I watched out of the corner of my eye as Cristan dipped his head in a slight nod, and was surprised to see that his eyes were covered with completely opaque sunglasses. When had he gotten those? Maybe they'd been in one of his pockets. It definitely helped in covering up the mangled side of his face and that highly reflective eye.  
"Cristan, huh?" The man said, pronouncing it like 'kris-tin,' "That's a damn girly name, boy." He said with a snort, and I was close enough to Cristan to feel the muscles in his arm tighten ever so slightly. Wow, not five seconds and the man had found a sore spot. "Can you talk, Cristan, boy?" He asked. Middle-aged, redneck-looking fucker, he was going to get introduced to an irate Hunter if he didn't ditch the mocking tone. "He doesn't talk," I said, "He's been through a lot since the end of the world, we all have, you know? He's a good guy, though." I stepped in front of Cristan as I spoke, using myself as a barrier between the two.  
The woman with all the piercings put her hand on the man's arm, "Put your gun down, Davis, and stop being an ass. They're not scavengers, lets let them in to eat at the very least." I could tell from her accent that Georgia so wasn't the place that she was born, in fact, she sounded either like she was from Yankeeland or the mid-west. The man, Davis, glared at her, then spit off to the side of the door, a disgusting habit. "Whatever, Erika." He grunted, then walked back inside the store. Erika shook her head, then smiled at me, "That's Davis. We picked him up around Pembrook. He's an inbred redneck ass, but he's good at killing zombies and spotting out those weird, amped-up infected. Nailed a Hunter last night before any of us could figure out where the scream came from." Cristan snorted at this last statement, a thin smile spreading across his face. It was the first time I'd ever seen him smile. I had to grin as well, thinking Davis would shit himself if he knew he'd just been mocking the Hunter he'd supposedly killed. Erika looked confused, "Why is that funny?" She asked. "Because he missed. I was a few buildings over. I saw the Hunter get away Scott-free."  
She paled, "Which way?" I gestured vaguely back towards downtown, "That way, he's probably long gone by now." Erika relaxed, then turned towards the door, "Well, come on then, you two. We've got some canned soup and chili and stuff, you can take your pick."

"Hey, Davis, stop sampling the stock. Now I know why you wanted to sleep in a fuckin' liquor store. Need you shootin' zombies, man, not us. Put the fuckin' beer down." Was the first thing I heard when we walked in. I saw Davis leaned against the counter with a beer in one hand, looking contemptuously at a young man sitting by the little campfire, smoking a cigarette. Cristan's attention was immediately caught, and he stared at the cigarette, inhaling deeply of the cloud of smoke we'd just walked in to. I remembered the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, and figured that he hadn't had one in weeks. If he was getting his memories back, well, he was probably remembering nicotine attacks as well.  
"Hey, y'all." The man said with a smile, "Welcome to Ye Olde Liquor Store. We got beer, vodka, wine, rednecks and breakfast. Which'd you like?" I laughed, sitting down by the fire, "Breakfast would be a godsend, vodka wouldn't fall far behind." Cristan sat down behind me, leaning against my back as I accepted a can of vegetable soup. He was being more clingy than usual, and I wasn't surprised. For once, he was distinctly out of his element.  
Davis sneered, muttering something about clingy little pansies, and Cristan stiffened behind me, growling so low that I could only feel it vibrating through his body, not hear it. "You, loudmouth." I snapped at Davis, "You got a reason to be rude, or are you just pissed that you look like an extra from Deliverance and takin' it out on everyone else?" Probably not the best thing to have said to a redneck with a gun, but damn it, he pissed me off, and I'd rather have him dislike me than get Cristan shot because the man pissed off the Hunter a little too much.  
The guy with the cigarette gawked at me for a second before he burst out laughing, which turned into a bout of spastic coughing when he choked on his smoke. I even heard Erika laughing from the other side of the store, "Lord, girl, you can stay, I like you." He said when he got enough air back to talk, then stopped laughing and looked over mine and Cristan's shoulders. I turned to follow his gaze and found that Davis was standing behind us with the gun pointed in our general direction. "You'll get yours, little girl." He sneered, gesturing at my face with the barrel of the gun. I flinched back, and Cristan struck – not like I was expecting, though. He grabbed the barrel of the gun, twisting it so that it wasn't faced towards either of us, and then he yanked down and shoved, driving the butt of the gun between the redneck's legs. Davis was suddenly keeled over on the floor, curled into himself, "Fuck!" He cried, gasping around the pain, "I'll fucking kill you, you mute _freak!_" He yowled up at Cristan, who in a fair imitation of Davis, sneered and spat at him. Erika came running out from behind the shelves right about then, taking in the scene with a disgusted look on her face. "Trey, what just happened?" She asked the shaggy-haired man.  
"Davis was being a dick. Pointed the gun at the girl, tall guy grabbed the gun and made sure that Davis wasn't havin' kids anytime soon. Can't say that I wouldn't'a done the same thing, myself." He said, taking another drag off his cigarette, then yelping as it burned his fingers. He flicked the butt into the little fire and sat back, watching Davis, who was slowly getting to his feet. "Davis, man, you best be gettin' back to that counter over there." He said, "And if you touch that gun, you're runnin' solo, because we'll ditch your ass here."  
Davis snorted, "Oh, yeah?" And he went for the gun. Cristan's elbow found his nose at the same time, and the Hunter claimed the shotgun, pointing it at Davis' now-bleeding nose. "Get away from us." I said, noticing that both Erika and Trey had their handguns pointed at the redneck, as well.  
Davis clamped his hands to over his nose in an attempt to staunch the bleeding, and staggered back to sit on the stool behind the counter. "You bitch, that tall freak won't be up your ass all the time, you know." He said, and I think he was trying to be threatening, but talking through a broken nose just left him sounding like had a serious cold, and he still couldn't walk right, so I couldn't take him too seriously – yet.  
Once it seemed like we wouldn't be hearing much out of the redneck for a while, I turned back to Trey, holding out my hand, "Name's Lily," I said. He shook it, "Trey. Who's your friend?" He asked as he withdrew his hand. "This is Cristan Wight." I said, and was amazed to see recognition on Trey's features. "No shit? I read about you, dude." He said to Cristan, who just looked confused. "You were in that one magazine – you won that Parkoo competition up in Atlanta, right?"

* * *

Parkoo?  
What the Hell is Parkoo?  
Parkour? Oh! Parkour. I know what he's talking about.  
I won. What did I win? I remember... Something.  
Running, jumping. Climbing things most people couldn't, even when I wasn't Other yet.  
That's what it was, parkour. Free running... Almost, not quite the same thing, no no no.  
He knows me.

* * *

I watched as Cristan nodded to Trey's question, then glanced to the pack of cigarettes sticking out of Trey's shirt pocket. Trey looked down, then pulled out the pack. "You want one, man?" Cristan nodded vigorously. I closed my eyes. Please don't let the guy pay too much attention to Cristan's hands. Trey held out a cigarette and Cristan took it with an exaggerated nod, then stared at it like he had no idea what to do with it. I turned slightly, stuck my hand in his coat, and fished out the little Bic lighter, flicking it and holding it to the end of the cigarette. Cristan took the lighter after I had done this, and took a drag from the cigarette, promptly dissolving into a coughing fit. He shook his head after he'd stopped coughing, then tried again, this time apparently getting it right as he nursed the cigarette, getting up to walk around the store, that catlike curiosity kicking in. Here's hoping he didn't start sniffing people

Once we finished breakfast and our various cigarettes, and Davis was up and bitching again, we headed out. It was strange to be constantly at street level, and I caught myself looking up at the rooftops longingly. There weren't hardly any zombies up there, and down here it was just horde after horde after horde. And good lord at the Boomers.  
Cristan was still working to keep us away from the vast majority of trouble, though, pointing and gesturing whenever he sensed another special infected nearby, and he managed to snatch Erika away from the tongues of Smokers twice in a row, from different directions.  
Trey made sure Davis kept ahead of us, though, noting that he didn't trust the bastard behind them with a gun anymore, especially not behind me and Cristan.

We eventually made it to a safe house – an actual house for once, not just a single room, with multiple beds and everything – right around dusk, and we piled in. Thankfully, the place was even better stocked than the safe rooms Cristan and I had been finding, and we immediately fell in on the weapons and supplies. Cristan, being Cristan, eschewed the guns altogether for a pair of daggers that went in a sort of holster around his waist and strapped to his legs, and a nearly three-foot-long sword that he found somewhere. I found myself a lightweight rifle and a new handgun, Davis stuck with his shotgun, just grabbing some new ammo, and Erika went with a machine gun. Trey had handguns and a fire poker.  
Then we raided the cabinets, loading up with non-perishable food and bottles of water, and we each took a first aid kit for ourselves, though I wound up carrying Cristan's as well as my own.

We all wound up sitting in the living room with the fireplace lit, Trey had unwound a wire hanger and was currently roasting himself some Vienna sausages , I had eaten some sort of soup that I couldn't even pronounce the name of, and Erika was working on a bowl of vegetable soup. Davis was sprawled out in an easy chair with a cold rag clutched to his nose, which had started bleeding again. Cristan sat at my feet, fiddling around with the mp3 player that had been in his pocket.  
We sat there in mostly companionable silence while everybody ate, then we decided that we needed to get to bed if we were going to get up early enough to make it out of Savannah before dark. I don't know why I had never considered leaving the town before, I guess that I had supposed that the government would come back – it was a big city, and they had to consider it important, but Erika had a point, there would probably be less zombies out in the country, and maybe a place where we could set up a permanent residence, maybe a farm or something.  
We all gathered up our stuff and went to our respective rooms – Trey got the sofa in Erika's room, Cristan and I shared a bed, and Davis got the living room couch.  
I kicked off my shoes and collapsed in the bed with Cristan wrapped around me, asleep almost as soon as I hit the pillow.

* * *

Curious.  
Everyone's asleep.  
Time to look.  
Loud one smells sick, too much drink. Skin's yellowish, bloodshot eyes. Liver.  
Disregard, not interesting. Eat him if he bothers Lily. Let the Others eat him if he falls behind.  
No Others nearby, except for the weak ones. They'll move on, they know I'm here.  
Crier in the distance. Too far to worry about.  
Check out the others.  
Cigarette smoker has his face buried in the couch. Not interesting.  
Girl smells healthy. Good food. Cannot eat. No.  
Shiny things in face – piercings? Piercings. Why?  
I have one in my nose.  
Appearance. Like how they look, so pierce face.  
All right.  
Fearsmell? Why fearsmell?  
Girl is awake!  
She saw my face – she knows I am Other!  
Gun!  
Gun pointed at me!  
Don't shoot don't shoot. I don't want the pain painpainpain.  
Run run run.  
Go go go back to Lily back to Lily!  
Lily!  
Safe.  
Sleep now. Curled up around Lily. I'm safe.  
She didn't follow me. Safesafesafe.


	4. Flee

(( I still don't own L4D))

* * *

"_I remember when – I remember – I remember when I lost my mind."_  
_- Gnarls Barkley: Crazy  
_

* * *

"Hey, Lily." Erika called to me the next morning. "I need to talk to you." I blinked groggily at her, having just rolled out of bed to the ever-annoying habit Cristan had of staring at me until I was woken up by the creepy stalker feeling. It didn't leave me in the best of moods. "What d'you need?" I managed to get that out in English, I think. I could understand why Cristan preferred to shriek and scream and growl, it's what I felt like doing. "Just girly stuff, I'd rather not talk to you with the men around." Pointed looks at Davis, Trey and Cristan.  
"Oh..." Still not comprehending, I patted Cristan on the arm and followed Erika to the back bedroom, the one she and Trey had bunked in, furthest from the living room. I sat on the bed while she paced around the room. I sincerely hoped this wasn't about something absurd like tampons or something.  
She seemed to be gathering her thoughts, then she finally turned to me and spoke, "I need to talk to you about your boyfriend, Lily." I stared at her, "Boyfriend? You mean Cristan? He's not my..." I trailed off, frowning at her. "Really? You two are awfully clingy for not being a couple." I shook my head again, more emphatically. "No. Its a safety thing. We feel more comfortable together." I said, still confused. Why was she asking about him? He hadn't done anything bad yesterday, other than semi-castrate and break Davis' nose. That was pretty damn docile for Cristan.  
"I don't know how you feel 'safer' sleeping with a Hunter, Lily, I really don't." She said, and I swear my heart stopped. I couldn't think of any excuse to explain Cristan's oddities. Had she seen his hands? He had behaved admirably like a human yesterday. What... "How?" It wasn't what I had intended to say, I was actually planning on denying the Hell out of what she'd said, but I – couldn't.  
"I woke up last night and he was crouched over me. At first I thought you'd brought some sort of creep with you until I saw his face. I saw what was left of his eye. I heard him shriek. What would he have done if I hadn't pointed a gun at him?" She asked as she stopped pacing, just watching me now.  
"He wouldn't have done anything." I said, "He was just figuring you out. That's how we met, actually. I woke up to him sitting on me, though he was nowhere near as sane as he is now. If he was going to attack, he would have done it when we first walked up. He wouldn't have saved you from those Smokers, Erika. Just think of him as an overly nosy, strange looking house cat. He has to investigate absolutely everything." I paused, "Actually, I think the only person here in any danger is that Davis guy."

* * *

I had another one of the smoking one – Trey's cigarettes, my third of the day and I hadn't even been awake for an hour. I had tried to smoke my own cigarettes upon realizing that that's what I had stuffed in my pocket, but Trey at taken one look at them, declared them not fit for a Boomer to blow its nose on, and dug out a new pack from his bag. He tossed it to me and I had been steadily working my way through it.  
He was laughing at me now, "You keep that up, man, and you'll turn in to one of them smokin' bastards with the tongues." I shook my head and smiled, careful not to show my teeth. Must listen to Lily. Don't want the pain pain pain.  
I stared at the ember on the end of my cigarette, amazed in that I actually had a clear head today. I could think. Most days it was snatches of memory and instinct that I acted on. I usually only really _thought_ around Lily, the bravething. My bravething. She did this.  
"Where's your girlfriend, freak?" The loud one was behind me, I could feel my spine stiffening before he even announced his presence. Girlfriend, girlfriend... What was – oh, no. Lily was mine, but not my... I started laughing and it sounded harsh even to my ears. I looked at him over my shoulder, silently daring him to come closer. If I had been allowed... Oh, yes. I would have screamed in challenge. Encroacher. I was dominant. Not this loud thing. No, nononono.  
Kill it.  
Die. Die die die.  
Watch the loudthing. Wait for it to do something stupid.  
Food.  
Think, Cristan, think! Don't let the fog come back. Think. If the fog comes back, you'll lose _everything._ You will lose your bravething if you eat the loudthing. Don't lose Lily.  
She keeps me sane. No, no she doesn't.  
She's making me sane. I wasn't sane to start with. She can't keep what wasn't there. She's making it happen.  
What if I don't want to remember? I know... Something bad happened. I don't want to remember, it hurts too much to try.  
"Hey! Scrawny bitch, I asked you a question." The loud one spoke again, and it was all I could do not to growl. I hated having to act human. I should be able to act like what I am. And I am Other. Hunter, that's what they call the hooded ones.  
I stood up, looking down at him. He was broader than me, yes, but I was a good deal taller than him. I was stronger, too, but he didn't know that. I tilted my head. Waiting. "I know you can talk, you fucking freak." He shoved me back. I stepped back with the shove, keeping my hands by my side. Let him keep digging himself deeper. Let him try. I'll eat him. "Why don't you show your goddamn face, hn? Think the hoodie makes you badass? Tryin' to look like one of those leapers?" He stepped up to me, way in my spacebubble, and I was hit by the reek of alcohol, old and new. He was _already_ drunk? "Why you wearin' those sunglasses inside, boy?" He pushed me again. I was actually amused.  
"Davis, man, don't fuck with him, remember yesterday?" Trey said from the couch, and the loud one snorted, "Yeah, I owe him for that, don't I? Thank you for reminding me."  
Judging by the look on Trey's face, that hadn't been what he was aiming for. "Broke my nose, you fucker." He said, swaying in the manner of the aggressively, but hopelessly drunk.  
How did I remember this?  
Now is not the time.  
I crawled up out of the split-second fog in time to see a fist flying at my face. I did the only thing that came to mind – I ducked. Quickly. The loud one overbalanced and sprawled over my back, and I rolled him the rest of the way off, onto the coffee table, then stepped back, waiting to see what he would do.  
Lily was right.  
Act human.  
Cat and mouse.  
So much more fun than just leaping in.  
Wait, wait wait wait.  
The loud one rolled off the table and came flying at me, I sidestepped. If he actually landed a hit, I'd make him regret it, but he actually seemed to be tiring himself out. No fun.  
Pain! Painpainpain! Kicked me in the knee.  
Kill!  
I staggered, then turned on the loud one, reaching up to remove the sunglasses. "Oh, now you take off the sunglasses? Why not the hood, too, you- Oh, holy fuck!" I laughed again, pushing the hood off my head. It was dim enough in here for the light not to hurt. However, judging by the look on his face, it was plenty bright enough for him to see me.  
No more playing human.  
I caught Trey scrambling over the back of the couch for the kitchen out of the corner of my eye – that's where he'd left his gun. Hopefully he wouldn't shoot me before I ripped into the loud one.  
I shrieked, dropping into a crouch, muscles tensed to leap.  
Run run run away. Go.  
I waited for him to get about halfway across the room, and then I jumped, slamming into his back and pinning him, claws raised to tear into the loud, annoying, now-screaming one.

"Cristan! Stop!"

* * *

Erika and I had run into the living room as soon as we heard Davis start screaming – boy, wasn't I good at famous last words? – and I skidded to a halt not two feet from Cristan, who had Davis under him, about to claw him to shreds. I yelled for him to stop, and he froze, looking up at me with the strangest expression on his face, somewhere between pissed off and ashamed. "Get off of him, Cristan." I said, and he shook his head, growling.  
I heard the hammer of a gun click, and turned. Trey had just come out of the kitchen with his handgun, and he seemed amazed that Davis was still alive. "You were in here, right?" I asked him, and he nodded, mouth hanging open as he regarded the scene in front of us. "What happened?"  
"Davis was bein' a prick as usual, shoved him back, tried to punch him – all Cristan did was duck and dump him off of his back, then he tried to run at Cristan, and when that didn't work, he kicked him in the side of the knee. I'd be amazed if Cristan can even stand up. That usually breaks a person's leg, y'know." He said, and I rubbed my temples. "Cristan, please get off of him, but if he attacks you again... I doubt I'll be able to talk you down a second time, will I?" Cristan snarled, slamming his hand into the back of Davis' head – he went limp immediately, unconscious, and then I had Cristan growling in my face, looking thoroughly pissed that I had stopped him now. I growled right back at him. "I understand defending youself, Cris." I said, "But that does not mean you turn the person into bloody confetti."  
He made a low scoffing noise, then turned to collect his sunglasses, putting them back on, though he left the hood off. There was no point in hiding his face now, I guess. Everyone knew exactly what he was.  
I watched him, noticing that he favored his right leg. If Cristan didn't beat me to it again, I'd probably wind up bashing Davis' skull in. He'd just tried to cripple what was most likely the most useful member of our little group.  
"Cristan, hey, are you okay?" I asked tentatively. I suddenly didn't want to make any sudden movements around him. I hadn't seen him act like this in a while. Of course, I hadn't ever seen him truly pissed off before, either. He was pacing the room, limping but seeming determined to walk it off – probably not the best idea, but whatever – and growling to himself, constantly looking back at Davis, as if daring the unconscious form to stand up. But that all stopped when I spoke, he froze, then stared at me, horror written across his face.

* * *

_Cristan? Baby, are you okay? What's wrong with you? Cristan, talk to me. What happened out the- Cristan! What's wrong with you – what are you doing? No, no, what are you – NO! Stop! Please-_  
I screamed and dropped to my knees as I finally remembered the nightmare in horrible, agonizing crystal clarity. I dug my fingers into my scalp, trying to make it stop, heedless of the gashes I opened with my claws.  
No no no God no. Not her. No. Why?  
Why would I?  
Painpainpainpainpain!  
Make it stop stop please make it stop.  
No!  
Something touched me, startled me, and I lashed out with a scream, swatting whatever it was away from me.  
Painnoise. Smell of blood. What have I done?  
Lily!  
I froze, then raised my head to stare at her, she was clutching her chest. No! What did I do! I lunged, pulling her hands away. I'd ripped open the skin below her collarbone, just above her breasts. Four red gashes, pouring blood.  
"No!" I wasn't even aware of speaking. I vaguely remember surging past Trey to the kitchen, snatching up one of those little red bags full of medicine, and kneeling by her. I tore into the bag, only to discover I couldn't remember how to use any of the items inside of it. I looked up at the female, "Er...Eri – Erika." I had to force the word out, I couldn't remember how to form the words, but I needed to – Lily was _hurt_.  
I let out a pained howl when she just stared at me. I leapt forward – I felt a bullet graze my back, searing painpainpainpainpain can't deal with that now, pain pain pain, have to help Lily – to grab her and drag her over to Lily, pulling her to her knees beside the bravething, my bravething. I was making high, pitiful noises, noises foreign to my throat. I shoved the medicine pack to her, then scooted back, rocking back and forth on my knees, curling into myself so much that my forehead hit the floor. I felt the barrel of a gun pressed into the back of my head and I stopped moving, save for my ragged gasping and crying. I knew I sounded far from human at this point, more likely a mortally wounded dog. Please save my Lily.  
My bravething.  
Mine mine mine.  
Shoot me shoot me shoot me if you have to.  
I killed them! Painpainpainpain! Memory! No. No no no not now please not now.  
Smiling baby, screaming baby. Pretty woman, lovelovelove... Hunger. Food. Blood in my mouth.  
Meat. Food foodfoodfood. Love. Nonononono NO!  
I screamed and huddled further into myself, squeezing my eye shut against the memories, claws gouging into the floor.  
Fearsmell behind me. Gun in my head. Shaking. He's going to shoot me. Please please please please yes.

* * *

The next thing I remember, I was waking up on the bed of the saferoom. We hadn't moved yet? It was dark. What happened? Oh. Cristan clawed me. Cristan! I sat bolt upright – or, tried, but the tug of stitches in my chest stopped me with a gasp. God damn, that had hurt. Where was Cristan? He wasn't asleep beside me.  
Please, don't let them have killed him. Please, please no.  
"Hey!" I called, wincing as the stitches tugged again. I heard footsteps in the hallway, and I closed my eyes. Please let that be Cristan. No, the stride's too short, too fast. Erika. She walked in, then came rushing over to me, "Lay down, lay down, or you'll rip those stitches!" She admonished me before I could even open my mouth. She then sat down on the edge of the bed. "I'm glad you woke up, we were worried about you – bleeding everywhere, we worried that you'd lost too much blood. Please, just lay still."  
"Where's Cristan?" I asked, disregarding everything she said before that. I wanted Cristan. I was cold, and I didn't feel safe without him. I wanted my fucking Hunter. "Where is he? Don't you dare tell me you killed him!" My voice cracked on its steady rise to a hysterical pitch and I grabbed Erika by the shoulders, not caring about the painful wrench in my stitches. Her eyes widened and she tried to push me back down, tried to keep me still. I was having none of it, flailing and clawing on par with my missing Hunter. "Lily! Calm down!" She cried over my apoplectic fit, eventually resorting to pinning me down by the shoulders. "I don't know where he is." She said as soon as she had gotten me relatively calm. "What?" I shrieked, again trying to sit up. I knew I was bleeding again. Trey had come in at some point, and now he helped Erika hold me down. I was not appreciative.  
"Where is he? What do you mean? _Where is Cristan?_ What did you _do_ to him?" I howled, and Trey answered. "He clawed you, then he started screamin' and jumped at Erika... I shot at him, hit him in the back–" I screamed, I screamed things no one should ever say, and he had to wrestle me back down before he could continue. "–Hold still, girl! Lemme talk!He wasn't hit too damn bad, I grazed him. He dragged Erika over to help you 'cause he couldn't figure out the damn first aid kit, then just kinda curled up and started makin' these God-awful noises. I kept him at gunpoint, I mean, damn, he already bashed Davis' skull in and ripped you up pretty good, but once Erika got you all fixed up, he just took off, right out the door – I didn't shoot him again, I promise, girl. I didn't kill Cristan. I don't know where he went, but we can't move for a few days, anyway, we got supplies here, girl. We gotta stay, neither you or Davis are in any condition to move. I don't even know if that ugly bastard's gonna live."  
I had finally given up, and now lay collapsed, panting and staring up at Trey. "What... I thought he just knocked Davis out?" Oh lord, he probably had killed him. Or done something he'd die from eventually. Trey shook his head, "What I thought, too. Then Davis was out cold for a couple of hours, and I felt around the back of his head – he's got a dent the size of Cristan's fist in the back of his head, I think he smashed his skull in. I ain't sure how the bastard's still breathing. Determined, I guess." I groaned, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for any of this... I didn't."  
"Hush, girl. Davis ain't really gonna be missed, and even if we did meet up with a colony of survivors or somethin', that man did not need to be procreatin' and creatin' more stupid hicks." Trey said, completely straightfaced. Apparently, there was little love lost there. "Only reason he was with us was 'cause we couldn't figure out a way to get rid of him, and neither Erika or I had the heart to shoot him."  
I stared up at Trey, wondering if I was delusional. Was he seriously telling me it was okay that Cristan had likely just killed one of the few remaining uninfected people? Well. He had a point. That man did not need to be helping with the re-population of Earth.  
They eventually got me calmed down and patched back up – Well, Erika got me patched back up, I ejected Trey from the room with amazing verbal force when Erika said she needed to fix my stitches, and he got out – quickly.  
Then she left, after giving me some painkillers and telling me to sleep.  
Sleep. Yeah, right. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering where Cristan was. How was I supposed to sleep without him?  
Oh, lord. Cristan.  
Please let him come back.


	5. The Most Painful Thing

(Author's Note: This chapter is entirely from Cristan's point of view. Thus, some parts may not make a lot of sense.)  
(As usual: Don't own Left 4 Dead. I wish.)

* * *

_"I never stop hearing the cries..."_  
_- Psyclon Nine: Suicide Note Lullaby  


* * *

_

Run.  
Run run run. Go.  
Get away.  
There's somewhere I have to go.  
That way!  
I paused on a rooftop, peering off into the distance. Home. What was left of it. I could make it back within a day or so. I didn't have to stop and rest like the live things. I took off over rooftops, across alleys. I had to go. Now. Now now now now.  
Avoid the Criers and the Tongues. Avoid the Fat Ones. Leave the Laughing One to his insanity. I had something to do.  
Painpainpain in my back. Trey's bullet. Still bleeding. Keep running. Run run run. Home!  
God help anything that had entered my home.

Hours. Minutes. Days. All the same thing. I don't know how long I've been running. I'm standing in the front yard now. Derelict and overgrown. How long has it _been?_ How long how long...  
Inside the house. Stench of old decay. Months, maybe. No no no no.  
Please no.  
Pictures on the wall. Me? Yes. Me. Before I became Other. The pretty woman. My pretty woman. My... Wife.  
Collapse in the hallway, claw the memories into the floor, into myself. Writhe in agony. Too much to bear. What... What did I _do?_  
Memories, more pictures. A small pink thing. A child. My child. Matthew. Matthew Matthew Matt Matt Matty... Where? Oh God what have I _done!_  
Everything's familiar. Crawl down the hallway. Painpainpain in my back, in my sides, in my arms, in my _head. _This place... So familiar. Home, home home home. Not anymore. Something's wrong. Old death.  
Living room.  
She's laying on the floor. I can see her feet. Why is she laying on the floor? She hates sitting on the floor. Doesn't like that we have a draft from under the sliding door, creeps across the living room. _Why is she on the floor? _  
Crawl around the table. No no no no no no no _no no no no no no no NO! Why? _God why...  
I had done this. I had killed her. My fault, my fault. God damn you, Lily. Why did you... Why did you bring me back? Why.  
Matthew!  
Tearing up the stairs. Which one was Matthew's room? Which... Which which which – that one!  
Agony. Matty, wake up, wake up... No. Blood. No blood. Thank God... No. He suffered more. Alone. Carry him downstairs, lay him next to his mother.  
I don't know how long I lay there on the floor, I don't know what the Others heard. I don't remember. Everything's a black mass of agony. Coat... Ripped. Torn. Lily will kill me. I hate her. Hate hate hate hate – no. Its not her fault. I did this. I did I did I did I did.  
Outside. Claws aren't very good for digging no, no no... They'll work. Keep digging. Can't just leave them like that. Have to... Have to dig.  
Keep digging. Fingers... Hands are bleeding. Don't care. Can't. Crawl out of the fog. Don't... Don't lose yourself again. Far too tempting. I can't let myself forget again. I can't. Not after this. The least I can do is remember. Even if I hate it, even if I wish I could forget.  
Careful now.  
Back in the living room. Hands on fire. Pain. I forgot how many rocks and roots were in the back yard. My hands are shredded. Lily will fix it. She fixes everything. She can't fix _this._ Screaming again. I can't help it. Claw your way to the surface, don't forget. Don't forget what you're supposed to do, Cristan. Come on, now, pull it together. Breathe. Just. Breathe. In, out. All you can do is breathe, Cristan. No! Don't breathe. Overwhelming smell of death.  
Carry her outside. Carry her, carry my... my... Adele. She hated her name, I remember that. Adele. Addy. My Addy. Happy, happy Addy, when the world was sane. When everything was still good. When she was _alive_. Addy and Matthew. Mine, all mine, and I killed them.  
Lay her down, careful now, careful. Don't hurt her any more. I can barely recognize her – but I know, this is my Addy. Silver glint. Wedding band on a blackened hand. Matches the one I'm wearing. Wake up, please please wake up. No. She won't.  
If she wasn't torn, if she wasn't grey and black... She would look like she was sleeping, but, no. She doesn't look peaceful, she can't. She died in pain. She died by the hand of someone she loved. I killed... I killed her.  
Go get Matty. My son. Lay him in his mother's arms – what's left of them. Oh God, I can't take this.  
I'm sitting at the edge of the hole with a thousand-mile-stare, not even the mournful howling of a Crier can stir me. I've done a horrible, horrible thing, and now I remember – now it's shoved under my nose, I can't deny it. I can't call it a nightmare. What do I do now? I destroyed my whole world. By myself. I didn't need any help. I destroyed that which I vowed I would never harm. I turned my loved ones into... food.  
Sick. So very sick. I crawl away from the hole and let my stomach rebel until there's nothing left, until I'm left shaking and empty, curled in on myself. I've got to finish it. I can't just leave them exposed like that. I can't bear the thought of just dumping dirt on them, though.  
I stagger back in the house, upstairs, letting memory and instinct guide my feet, because my head sure isn't working right now, into our old room, the bed still unmade. Fond memories of that last night. In her arms. We wanted Matty to have a sibling, that will never happen now.  
I stripped the blankets off the bed, grabbing up the sheet and making my way back outside. I had to balance precariously in the hole, the last thing I wanted was to step on one of them, as I tucked the sheet around them. Shroud them, keep them safe from further harm, keep them safe from the dirt.  
Crawl out of the hole. I had to finish this.  
I filled in the hole, patting the dirt down. I had to... do something. I didn't know the day, the month, anything. Tear back into the house. Small piece of plywood in the basement. My hands hurt. Claw the names and ages into the wood. There's another piece of wood, I need nails. How do I use these? Hammer.  
Nail the marker together. Outside now.  
Dig the end of the sign into the ground, leave the marker at the head of the grave.

I've been sitting here for hours, I know I need to get up. The Crier's getting closer. I know the hole was deep enough to keep the creatures out. They're safe now. I stood, turning and walking inside. Go up the stairs, Cristan.  
I stopped at the mirror in the upstairs hallway, staring at myself. Was this what... Is this what was left of me? I reached out and touched my reflection – the raw-looking mess that was the left side of my face, the bloodshot, yellow eye. I skinned my lips back from my teeth – sharp, inhuman teeth. Scars on my lips. I'd bitten myself before. The glass shattered. I had driven my fist into it.  
I was bleeding, I had clawed myself, tried to claw the memories out. I had ruined the coat and hoodie. My pants were tattered. I needed to clean up. I had to. I smelled like death. I smelled like Addy. I was going to go insane if I didn't get the smell of old death off of me.  
Going through my closet – the mini duffel bag that I used when I'd gone to Atlanta a few weeks before the infection hit, I needed that. Put the bag on the bed. Start piling clothes into it. I didn't need food. Food was plentiful, shambling around outside, bashing its collective heads into walls and eating other survivors.  
Pain pain pain. Why did I do this to myself? Stupid. Stupid, stupid self-destructive behavior will get you nowhere. Nowhere except dead. I had to get back to Lily. She was still alive – No! Is she? I hurt her, too. I hurt the loud one, I hurt him badly. I cut Lily wide open.  
I _have_ to go back. I have to make sure she's okay. I can't just … oh God, I hurt her and then ran. Just like with Addy. Such a fucking coward.  
Finish packing, dig my spare coat out. I choked out something between a laugh and sob. Addy had just bought me this coat, said it was from some new store at the edge of town. I had gotten so angry at her for going there, afraid she was going to get shot. Afraid for her safety. Not the nicest neighborhood.  
It was the exact same coat that Lily had picked out for me. The same store. I had another hoodie somewhere. I seemed to have a surplus of dark, body-concealing clothing that I'd never paid attention to before. Maybe I'd had some sort of subconscious premonition about what I was going to become. More likely, I was just stocking up for winter.  
It was still over eighty degrees outside, but I no longer felt it. Go in the bathroom, no water. I cleaned off the best I could with Matthew's baby wipes, under the sink. We had at least two boxes in each bathroom because I constantly forgot to buy them. I couldn't anymore.  
Bandages? Nothing better than a couple boxes of band-aids. Tear up the spare sheets, then. I pretty well mummified myself before I slid into the new hoodie and coat. I didn't feel right unless I had both. New jeans, dark grey. I'm completely monochromatic now. I'll blend in well at night.  
I moved all my stuff from the pockets of the old clothes to the new again, unsure of why I was so attached to the things, but not wanting to leave them. Odd black thing on the nightstand. Its a solar powered charger. Addy bought it for me. I can put the little green thing with wires coming out of it on there and it will keep working. Same with the big grey thing. Shove that in the duffel bag, far too big for my pockets. What is it... what what – laptop. Computer. I'll remember how it works later. I don't have the time, now. Grab the cord, just in case we find somewhere with power. Why? I just need it. Chunk a roll of that silver stuff in there, too. May need it. Wind resistance. Duct tape.  
Finish with the duffel bag. Zip it up, it doubles as a backpack. I always thought that was pretty useful.  
I need to leave, now. Go back to Lily.

Not moving as fast as I was on the way to my home, but I hurt. I hope I get back to her in time, I keep opening up the cuts as soon as I move. God, damn it. I hope she's all right. Why did I do that?  
Lump in my pocket. Stop on a rooftop, pull out the little green thing, stare at it. It plays music.  
Not now, I'll get Lily to help me remember how to use it later.  
I need to go! Now!

Walking the streets now, it hurts too much to jump. Piteous noise from an alley, gunshot.  
Gunshot? A survivor? My natural curiosity kicked in, and I turned down the alley, hands stuffed in my pockets.  
She was sitting propped up against a dumpster. At first, I thought she was just short – and stupid for sitting down in the middle of a town infested with Others, until I realized she was just a child. And she was hurt. A child, alone out here? Little girl, maybe eight years old, barely able to hold up the handgun she had pointed at me. Familiar. Everyone points guns at me. I can't say that I blame them, now. I made low shushing noises, hoping to calm the girl down. She looked even more frightened the closer I got.  
I stopped about ten feet in front of her, "Are..." My throat ached, trying to form my thoughts into something – words. That's what I was trying for. I could remember words. I could remember talking. Those often gentle, sing-song noises that Lily made that I could understand, but I couldn't make. "Are you okay?" I remembered that string of noises from both Lily and Addy, delivered in a soft, non-threatening tone from them... I sounded harsh, hostile, but I had to force the noises out, I had to force myself not to trill in curiosity instead of... of... speaking.  
The girl's gun wavered, and then dropped. "You're not one of the crazy men?" She asked. I shook my head, walking up to and sitting down next to her. Something in me wouldn't let me leave her. She wouldn't last. She wouldn't last any longer than Matthew had. How was she out here alone? Her leg didn't look right. I peered down at it. "I fell when we were going over that fence." She pointed to a high fence at the back of the alley. "My sister says that I broke it. It hurts. She went to find something to fix it with."  
I nodded, then reached to touch the girl's leg, holding it still when she tried to pull away, whimpering. "I..." I swallowed, "I can... fix it." I said, "It will... hurt. But... I can fix it."  
The little girl was watching me, wide eyed, but then she gritted her teeth and nodded. She seemed older than she was, but you had to grow up fast out here.  
I felt along her lower leg, figuring out the break, and then I grasped just below her knee to steady her leg – she was too thin, my hand wrapped easily around her leg – and tugged sharply with my other hand, wrapped around her ankle, the bone grinding, then snapping back into place. She screamed, high and piercing, it left my ears ringing for a moment, and then the resounding blast of a rifle, a bullet whizzed mere inches over my back and I looked up, at the end of the alley, an older girl, maybe twenty, was running down the alley at us, full tilt. "Ninny!" The little girl yelled, suddenly wrapping herself around me, "Don't hurt him, he's not a crazy man!"  
The woman skidded to a halt, aiming the rifle at my face – I hissed, it was reflex, and then froze as she tightened her finger on the trigger. "Alison." She said, voice slow, enunciating every word. "Let. Go. Of. Him. That's a Hunter."  
I supposed it would be unnerving to hear your little sister scream, then find a Hunter crouched over them, and I let my muscles relax, slowly lowering myself to the ground in a way where it would be impossible for me to pounce before she was able to pull the trigger. The little girl put her arms over my back, and I shrieked, flinching, then shrieked again as shrapnel from the pavement hit my face. The woman had shot, and somehow managed to miss, shooting the area below and beside my face instead of me – maybe she didn't want to blow my brains out in front of a little girl. "Don't hurt him!" The girl said again, "He fixed my leg – that's why I yelled. He made it straight again. And he can talk. He's not one of those crazy jumping things." The gun lowered a bit, vanishing from my peripheral vision, and I relaxed a bit more, though the skin on my back was jumping from where the little girl unwittingly had her hands across the gunshot wound. "You need to... bind it." I ground out, finding the words as I spoke. "I... just... set the bone."  
"Madre de- You can _talk_!" She sounded half-strangled. I looked up at her, then nodded, slowly trying to work myself out of the little girl's deathgrip. The gun came back up, and I froze, "Not... going to hurt you." I said, finally extricating myself and sitting down, crosslegged. Then I merely pointed behind the young woman. She turned to look over her shoulder. "Ali, close your eyes." The little girl promptly put her hands over her eyes, and 'Ninny' blew the head off the zombie that had been running towards her. She then turned back to me, "Thanks." I nodded again, hunching into myself. The little girl had opened my back again, I looked up at the woman, Ninny. "I can... take you to others." I started, then paused, trying to remember the sounds, the words I needed to make, "Survivors. Two, at least. I may... may have...killed the other two." I looked down at the pavement, waiting for her to shoot me with that admission.  
"Why?" I looked up at her. "Why, what?" I asked. "Why would you have killed them? And why take us, why are you able to talk? Why aren't you trying to kill us? Why did you help?"  
I made an irritated growling noise, I didn't know if I could speak enough to answer all of those questions. "One attacked me, and my... My Lily startled me when I was remembering – I didn't mean to hurt her." The words came easier now. They still tasted strange on my tongue, but I could make the sounds. "I ran. I'm going back now. I have to... I have to make sure Lily's okay. She brought me back. I helped you because... I just buried my family. I … I couldn't leave a child. Not now." I said, looking up at the woman, "I just need... help – before I take you."  
"Jesus, man, I'm sorry. What kind of help do you need?" The woman spoke, I couldn't bring myself to call her Ninny in my head, it just didn't mesh. She'd knelt down with her back to the dumpster, that way she could see down both sides of the alley, the rifle was laid across her lap. "I'm... Hurt. I got shot...My back. And then I had a fit and... Shredded myself." I spat the last bit out, still disgusted, even though at that point I had had absolutely no control and I'd been reacting to pain. She nodded, "Let me splint Ali's leg, first. You won't take my face off if it hurts, will you?" She spoke in the tone of one who had just learned that the neighbor's cat was actually Satan and was telling them to kill someone. Completely unbelieving. I shook my head. "I'm used to Lily patching me up."

She'd gotten the girl's leg splinted and me bandaged up enough to move, and I'd learned her name was actually Nina. I was carrying the little girl in my arms, and we were headed back to the last safe house I knew my little group to be at. It had only been a couple of days, but I realized how much faster I moved on my own. The two of them were slowing me down quite a bit, though Nina did prove to be quite adept at keeping up with me. I'd remembered just about everything. I could carry on conversations, but I didn't enjoy it, still so much more used to just screaming and shrieking to get my point across – so much simpler.  
We didn't talk a lot, just me warning her of Others, and then the ones like me... Tongues and Criers, as well. Smokers and Witches. Whatever you wanted to call them.

Days later. God I hoped they were still there. Barely a mile, now. Lights in the distance. They were there! Relief shot through me with almost painful force, and I took off for the safe house, calling to Nina to hurry up, we were almost there.  
Standing outside. Pile of dirt in the yard, large stone at the head of it. Oh God, which one was dead? Please not Lily, no no no no – fog creeping in again. Don't let that happen. Keep thinking, Cristan. Maybe it's the loud one, Davis. I handed Alison off to Nina, then leaned my head back and screamed, a call that Lily, if she was there, would recognize... And if not, at least they'd shoot me faster.  
Silhouette in the window, and then the safe house door flew open. Someone flying towards me almost faster than a Hunter could pounce, and then I was slammed into and wrapped in a tight hug. Scent. Lily! She was all right. But this hurt. She was clinging to the most gashed-up part of my body. Hell if I was going to stop her, either.  
I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing tightly for a moment. At least one good thing in this world was still safe.  
"Lily." I said, and she froze, then pulled away to look at me, looking amazed. She hadn't heard me speak to Erika. "Lily. You're all right?" I asked, and her jaw dropped, then she was going off at several octaves higher than my sensitive ears appreciated, shoving me back with surprising force. "I'm fine, no thanks to you! The Hell were you_ thinking,_ running off like that? Trey said he _shot you_, and I didn't know if you were okay! You fucking _bastard_!" She shoved again, and I saw a line of stitches peek out from above the collar of her shirt. I grabbed her arms, trying to still her, and I swear to you, the girl snapped at me. With her teeth. She had been around nothing but me for _far_ too long. Did she want me to leave? Searing pain in the general vicinity of my chest, though I think it originated in my head. She probably wanted me to leave. At least I'd gotten the other two safe.  
I'd no sooner thought this, and she was clinging to me again and sobbing, something about not knowing if I was all right and if I ever ran off like that again, she'd track me down, kill me, then resurrect me and kill me again. I had to laugh at the image that put in my mind. "Lily, who's dead?" I asked when I finally got her calmed down again – it involved a lot of back-petting and shushing, growling noises, but I eventually got her somewhere near sane, at least she wasn't babbling about creative ways to kill me, now – and she glanced over at the pile of dirt. "Davis. You broke his skull. He was in a coma... and Trey finished him off. Shot him yesterday morning. He wasn't going to wake up."  
I closed my eye. I had hated the man, but the last thing I needed to be doing was killing off survivors. They had enough enemies – the entire world – as it was. "I'm sorry." I said, and she shook her head, "He should have known better." And then she finally noticed Alison and Nina, who were both staring at her as if expecting her to suddenly sprout claws and fangs, too. Maybe develop a penchant for running around in her underwear crying – oh God no. I shook my head to clear _that_ particularly unpleasant mental image. "Lily, this is Nina and her little sister, Alison. I found them on the way back here."  
She regarded them for a moment, then smiled hugely. "Lord, you and Trey are gonna have a time of it, you're officially outnumbered." I was confused, but Nina seemed amused as Lily led her and Alison inside, and I stood there for a moment, trying to work out what had them so entertained about the idea of Trey and I being outnumbered... And then the memory came back to me. I groaned, then trudged in after them, barring the door after me.  
Erika and Trey were busy getting the newcomers situated, but when they caught sight of me, they went silent, and I noticed Trey's hand not-so-subtly resting on the butt of his handgun. I raised my hands in surrender. "Not crazy, here. Don't shoot me. The last bullet wound still stings."  
"Holy fuck, man, when did you learn to talk?" Trey asked, dropping his hand from the gun. Fuck, but I was getting tired of that question, so I remembered sarcasm, "A couple of years after I was born, hick." I snapped, then relaxed a bit, "I'm sorry about Davis, and I can't thank you two enough for keeping Lily safe." I said. Erika shook her head, "She's one of us, so are you, psychotic fits aside, and Davis just got what was coming to him. One of us would have wound up shooting him at some point, anyway."  
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, and nodded to them both before I walked up to Lily, dragging her out of an animated conversation with Nina. "I'm going to bed. I have had an extremely rough week, and I'll tell you about it in the morning, but now... I just want sleep." I told her, then headed off down the hallway to curl up in the bed.

I woke up probably an hour later when Lily came in and slid in the bed beside me, wedging her back against mine. I made a contented noise, turning over and curling around her. Now that I had my mind back, I could understand why the others had thought we were... involved. The thought sent a pang through me, and I whimpered, closing my eye again. This was nothing like what I'd felt for Addy, no. Lily was a touchstone. She was reality... Sanity. I loved her, but nowhere close to the way I had loved Addy. I loved Lily in the same way a small child adores their teddy bear, or blanket. She was safety, and I would happily kill every Other in the world to keep her safe.  
I drifted back off to sleep with that thought, my nose, as usual, stuck right against the base of Lily's skull.


	6. Planning

(( Don't own Left 4 Dead. Cristan in all of his tall, scrawny glory is mine, though. As is Lily and co.))

* * *

_"And now we stand alone - the world is lost and blown."_

_- The Smashing Pumpkins: The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning  


* * *

_

I was sitting on the couch, just kind of staring off into space. Lord, but I felt bad for Cristan. He'd woken me up before dawn this morning, and had spent the subsequent two hours telling me everything that had happened while he was gone – everything. He told me everything he could remember about himself, which wasn't much yet, everything he could remember about Adele, and his son, Matthew. He had made a strangled noise about halfway through his story, and I had just laid there and held him as grief wracked his body.

I had lost my entire family to the infection, but I hadn't been the one who had _killed _them. I didn't know how he could bear it. The man was a lot stronger than I was, at least on the surface. When I'd gone to reapply his bandages a while later, I had sucked in a gasp of horror – he hadn't been kidding when he said he shredded himself. If Nina hadn't stitched him up, I was fairly certain I could have seen the bones of his ribs through some of the claw marks. He told me he didn't really even remember doing it – he knew he had done it, but he couldn't pick that one action out of a flood of memories that had crippled him just as effectively as his own claws.

His hands were such a mess, the skin bruised and torn, he hadn't let Nina bandage them. He needed them to climb. I did it, telling him it was stupid not to have bandaged them – not climbing for a couple of weeks versus not climbing, ever?

Of course, now he was being stupid with his hands. Trey was being even stupider. As I sat here on the couch, those two were crouched on opposite sides of the coffee table, arm wrestling. Trey had wanted to see if he could beat a Hunter, and Cristan only agreed after the man had offered up a pack of cigarettes as a prize.

Slam!

Cristan won within a matter of seconds, then proceeded to subsequently win three more packs of cigarettes out of Trey's dwindling carton before the little hick gave up. "How the hell do you do that, man? You're a skinny fucker!" Trey sounded indignant, and Cristan shook his head. "II'm a Hunter. I did parkour before I was infected. I knew how to use my body to begin with, and the infection just made it better. You can't do a lot of running and climbing without pain in your muscles, yes?" I'd noticed that Cristan had a faint accent, not from around here. Probably not by a whole continent or two. Trey nodded, "Of course. Who don't?" Cristan smiled, freely showing those razor-sharp teeth for the first time. Trey paled a bit. "Me. No lactose buildup. Thus, I can consecutively kick your ass without any pain, except where you're gripping my hands." He waggled his bandaged fingers and Trey looked instantly contrite. "Dude, I'm sorry, I actually forgot about that. I'm used to y'all not reactin' to bein' shot or anything." Cristan shook his head and lit a cigarette. According to Nina, he'd gone from broken, choppy sentences to full, eloquent sentences within a couple of days, the more she forced him to talk by peppering him with questions.

"What did it do to the rest of you?" Trey suddenly asked, and Cristan gave him a strange look, "What do you mean?" He asked it slow, cautious. One couldn't ever guess what exactly was going to come flying out of Trey's mouth – he was still sporting a black eye for pointing out that he could see Erika's panty line, not something most people would be worried about during a zombie apocalypse, but the boy had absolutely no filter between his brain and his mouth, which lead to some either mortifying or hilarious incidents.

"Like... The other 'special' infected have very noticeable deform'ties. The only thing 'bout you Hunters that I've ever seen is the claws and teeth, and that not one of y'all seems to like havin' eyes. You're actually the first Hunter I've ever seen that wasn't completely blind. You still got one workin' eye, at least."

Cristan reached up and touched the raw-looking side of his face, clawtips tracing the edges of his eye socket. Both Trey and I kind of shuddered, I just couldn't picture that not being extremely painful. Cristan noticed this and dropped his hand, then smirked. "I can actually see better than you, in a sense." He tapped a claw just beside the eye socket. "I have something similar to thermal vision on this side. Normal vision on the other. Its why Hunters are so good at finding..." He gestured towards Trey, then took a drag off his cigarette, closing his one remaining eye. I had to wonder how he slept, always being able to see out of that side. It would drive me nuts. Then he continued. "I don't have very many physical _deformities. _My skin's greyer than a human's, paler. I've seen Hunters with massive boils and such on their arms, but I don't have any of that. I think its a result of environment – hanging around in messy places, covered in filth will of course infect any open lesions on the skin, thus making us look even more grotesque. Why are you looking at me like that, Trey?" He abruptly cut himself off with that question, staring an open-mouthed Trey down. Trey spluttered, I guessed he was trying to say what he was thinking without insulting Cristan, and he didn't seem able to do that quite right. "I just got a real hard time wrappin' my head around a smart Hunter, man. You was barely talkin' last night, now you sound like some sort of smart... college-type person." He said, and Cristan snorted. "Well, you're not in my head right now, are you? But, no. Externally, I'm no different from you except for my hands, teeth, and feet."

"Feet?" I asked. I had never actually seen him barefoot, even though we slept in the same room. One of us was usually in bed before the other, and he was always up before me – I was not a morning person. Cristan nodded, "Claws instead of toenails." I made a mental note to see what was so different about his feet at a later date.

* * *

Trey's comment had amused me. If only he knew. Externally, I wasn't all that different. Internally was a different story. I was like a wound spring, always ready to jump. I still didn't have an entirely 'human' thought process – they all still smelled like food. Especially Erika, sweet, brave Erika, so close to Lily. She put on a good front, but I could smell the fear radiating from her whenever I got close. Trey actually seemed fairly accustomed to me, only jumping whenever I did something distinctly not-human, like moving far faster than was natural. Lily, dear Lily never smelled of fear anymore. I figured that I could act as if I'd regressed, scream and pounce her and she'd probably just yell at me for being an idiot.  
I laughed as I got an image of her fending me off with a broom, grinding my cigarette out on the edge of the table before becoming serious once more. I had had an idea last night. If memory served me correctly, we may very well be – saved.  
"Lily, could you get Nina, Erika, and Alison in here? I have something to suggest, and it would be best if I spoke to you all as a whole." I said, turning to look at her, wishing for once that I could close my left 'eye', that I could see everyone without the red haze.  
Lily slid off the couch, she still smelled of sadness – for me. That woman was amazing. I regretted telling her everything, just so that I could have spared her the ache of it, but... She probably would have been angry if I withheld it.

I waited until the group as a whole was assembled in the living room, grouped around me and the coffee table, which I'd spread a map of Georgia over, and I was fiddling with a red sharpie as I waited for them to settle down, cigarette clamped between my teeth. You could always tell my cigarettes from Trey's – mine had small holes in the filters from my teeth. I shrieked softly, getting their attention, and I pointed to an area I had circled several times with the sharpie. "Reidsville." I said, then paused, collecting my thoughts. Apparently, they thought that was all I had to say, because they all started in at once:  
"Reidsville? Really? I grew up 'round there. What's so special 'bout it?"  
"That place looks tiny, why would we go there?"  
"Whaa- No, I am not goin' up to the country. Could you imagine how many Chargers and shit are out there? Cris, have you lost your mind?"  
"I've never even heard of that place, and it barely has a dot on the map. The government won't come to help us there!"  
I held up my hand for silence, and they eventually complied. "Nina, I'm not expecting any help from the government, if we... If _you_ were going to be saved, wouldn't they have done it now? The world's done. We need to start over. This safe house has been good for the past week, but I can feel Others getting closer. They know we're in here. All you have to do is go look out of that door. I hear at least three Criers outside, and this structure could not withstand an attack by a tank, or a concentrated attack by Hunters, Boomers and Smokers – we have been known to work together." I exhaled smoke, looking up at the ceiling. "There's a Hunter on the roof as we speak. What are we going to do when he's joined by one, two, ten more? This is why I'm suggesting Reidsville. I drove through the town a couple of times, and Trey over there just said that he grew up around that area – he should know what I'm getting at. Do you, Trey?" I asked.  
"No, man, not really, but I don't think circles like you do." Trey admitted, and I sighed, then continued. "Reidsville is the host town to the state prison for Georgia. We're talking concrete walls, razor wire, gates, and a self-efficient microsystem – The area around it is country, less populated, so less zombies. The prison has crop fields, a nearby river we could get water and fish from. The prison itself is large enough to house several hundred people, and we could get some man-powered generators, set up radio signals, those haven't gone down yet, call more survivors in and start the world back over... With time, of course."  
Lily piped up then with the most obvious problem: "What about the inmates?" She asked, and I shrugged, "If they're infected, kill them and burn the bodies. If some survived and are immune, like you, try to help them, but if they bring harm to us, or attempt to," I felt a smile crawl across my face. "Let me eat them."  
Trey stared at me for a moment, then leaned forward to pluck the lighter from beside my hand, lighting his cigarette before he spoke. "Reidsville's a farm town. We could scavenge equipment and seeds from the farms and stores – its got more mechanic and farm supply shops than anything else. And Cristan's got a point – place only has a population of about four thousand, counting the inmates, and I'm guessin' over half of 'em got eaten."

We talked into the wee hours of the night, planning out the route we'd walk to this town – drive, if we could find a vehicle that had all-wheel drive and a clear road, which I quickly vetoed as it had a snowball's chance in hell.

It was decided we'd head out in the morning, I'd carry the still-injured Alison and my pack, and the rest of us would haul weapons and as much food and water as we could carry. We had chosen the shortest possible route, which meant crossing a river... several times, but it was also the least populated route, which was both a blessing and a curse – less zombies, but less supplies. The others bitched about this until I pointed out that we were all perfectly capable of shooting a deer, rabbit, or some squirrels to roast. Well, I'd be more liable to eat the thing before it was properly dead, but they could roast theirs. I had tried some food earlier and nearly gagged myself silly. I just wasn't designed to eat anything processed anymore. I preferred my food to still have a heartbeat. Cruel, vicious... true.  
I hadn't told Trey the worst mutation – I was designed to find, stalk, hunt, attack, and ultimately eat humans, almost exclusively. I could subsist on wildlife and Others, but nothing compared to the taste of human. If any of them knew just how tempting I found the idea of eating them was – all of them save Lily and Alison - well, I'd be dead several times over.  
I needed to eat. I hadn't eaten since I had left – it was saying something that even Trey looked like a gourmet meal right now, even if I was afraid that uneducated hick was contagious. I excused myself from the plan making at about four o' clock that morning, headed on my way out of the safe house when Trey stopped me. Well-meaning hick, I'd have to pop his little bubble about how 'sane' I was anyway, damn.  
"Hey, man, where you goin'?" He asked, looking up from raiding the ash tray – he believed in smoking shorts when I didn't, and often complained about me 'ventillatin' the butts with my teeth, didn't stop him from smoking them, though – and I shrugged, "Out. I need food." I said, having to conceal a frown when he looked confused. "Food? Man, we got food in the kitchen. What d'you need to go outside for? Nothin' but zombies out there." He said, and I actually had to wonder if he'd been smoking something other than cigarettes to get as brilliant as he was. I turned, and in the tones of a parent talking to a somewhat slow child, enunciating every word, I spoke, "Trey. I eat zombies. I am no longer designed to subsist off of granola bars, ramen, and cooked food. Giving me 'normal'" Air quotes included, "Food is like giving a dog chocolate in high quantities. I'll be back before the sun's up." I finished, then turned away from the dumbstruck looking Trey. Had he really not realized that I didn't eat what they did?  
I slipped out the door and began walking away from the safe house. A new scent caught my attention, and I turned towards it. Unwashed human. Distinctly unwashed human. But... Human. Food. Scent of guns and blood. Sink down into the hunting fog for a bit. Let instinct take over. Lily wouldn't want me to kill a human, need to see if they're on our side, first.  
Crawl over the buildings, hang on the wall. Listen, listen.  
"That place up there, see, they got lights on. Probably got more food than they need. Liberate some of it from 'em. Weapons, too. They won't need 'em after we're done."  
"Yeah, man. Prolly some fat happy people holed up in their house, waitin' on CEDA. Hate to have to burst their bubble, but we got a need for them weapons."  
"Lets go. You know the routine – partner's hurt. Need medical supplies."  
"Yeah, yeah. Can we shoot 'em, this time? Slittin' throats is too mess- ssh! I think I hear one of those crazy jumpin' fuckers."  
"Naw, just the wind. Come o–_yeaaAAUGH!_"  
"Man, where are you? The fuck!"  
I finished the larger one off with a swift bite to the throat, then wall jumped up onto a light pole, watching the small, scrawny one point wildly with his gun. One... more... there! He tripped over the body of his fallen comrade with a noise like a mouse being stepped on, screaming and then firing random shots off into the dark. Come on, fucker, waste your ammo. Too stupid to look up. I'm on top of the light you're hugging so dearly to. The monsters don't hide in the dark anymore, you fool.  
Five, six, click, click, click. _Now!_  
"Hey, fucker, I'm up here." I said, soft and low. He whirled back and forth, empty gun still pointed into the night. "Look up, look up." I laughed, the sound ending in a low scream. The panicked man looked up, saw me perched on the light pole and screamed, dry-firing his gun as if he hadn't realized it was out of ammunition yet.  
Muscles tensed. Food. Foodfoodfood.  
Scream and jump. Horror in his eyes before they go glassy from death. Eat quickly. Take the best parts from both, gorge yourself, Cristan, you won't get this opportunity again any time in the near future.

Stuffed near to bursting, I wandered back to the safe house, noting a single light was still on. Probably the fireplace. I wanted my after-dinner cigarette. I let out the screech that they identified with me, and the door opened. Trey and Lily standing there.  
"Where's Alison? I'd probably frighten her to death if I came in like this." I said, keeping out of the circle of light, just in case the little girl popped up between them. "Like what, man?" Trey asked, then added, "Nina put Ali to bed hours before you left, remember? But the little'un's out like a light." I exhaled, then stepped into the circle of light outside the door. Trey had a most amusing expression of horror on his face, but Lily just looked exasperated. I raised my remaining eyebrow at her, and she shook her head. "We gotta teach you table manners. How many zombies are you wearing now?" She asked as she stepped aside to let me in. I snorted. "Absolutely none."  
"Excuse me?" Nina piped up from beside the fireplace, where she had apparently been asleep by the hearth. "You're covered in blood, look like you've been rolling around in it – but no zombies? What did you _eat_?" I smiled at her, showing red-stained, sharp teeth. "Humans. Two of them."  
Enter complete and utter chaos. Nina promptly had a gun pointed at me, screaming something about why the Hell would I eat survivors, Trey going on about how fucking insane I must be, Lily yelling over them to try to get it through to them that I wouldn't do something like that without a reason, and Erika skidding, half-awake into the room to join the bedlam, screaming in an attempt to be heard over the other three – trying to get them to calm down by outshouting them or something.  
My ears couldn't take it for more than a few seconds, and I screamed, the long, loud, almost metallic scream of a severely pissed-off Hunter.  
Pure, blissful silence, everyone staring at me like I had grown a third eye. I suppose they had gotten used to me being civilized. I wasn't. Not a chance in Hell. I was infected. There's no such thing as civilization here.  
"Humans, as you may realize..." I started in a harsh, sarcastic drawl, "Nina, will you please put the gun _down? _As I was saying, humans, as you realize, aren't all good people. The two humans I turned into-" I glanced out of the window. "-Breakfast were what Erika called 'scavengers', or raiders. If I hadn't killed them, they would have come here to try and kill _all _of us and take our supplies." I sneered. "I'm not so far gone that I'd eat a survivor without assessing the situation thoroughly. I was actually going to attempt to socialize before I overheard the 'slit their throats and take their supplies' part of the conversation."  
This said, I turned on my heel and stalked down the hallway, surprised that Ali hadn't woken up from all the noise, but I wasn't going to check on her, covered in blood like I was. I stepped into the room Lily and I had claimed, digging some clothes out of my bag.

* * *

I walked into the room to find Cristan sitting on a chair in a fresh pair of jeans, shirtless, using what looked like baby wipes to clean the blood off of his skin. He had his back to me, and I was startled at how pale he was. I mean, I was used to how grey and wasted the zombies looked, I just hadn't ever associated that with Cristan, but here he was, practically fluorescent in a beam of moonlight, the scar tissue forming over where he'd clawed himself, among the older myriad of scars and the long groove that went diagonal across his back standing out in an even brighter shade of white. Well, there went the need for a lightbulb.  
I scuffed my shoe against the floor just in case he hadn't heard the door – last thing I wanted was an already angry Hunter being startled. He tensed, head whipping around to stare at me for a second before he relaxed and went back to wiping off his arms.  
The soggy, bloody mess that was his old clothing was piled on the floor next to him, though I didn't see his hoodie or coat anywhere. "Cris, where are the rest of your clothes?" I asked, confused. I had known him for a while now, and I'd never seen him without either of those garments – except for that one time that I'd shoved him bodily in the shower... And I'd been doing anything but paying attention to what he looked like, then.  
"Bathroom, I washed them. Only ones I have, and they were getting stiff." He stood up, chunking the used wipes in a small trashcan by the desk. Even barefoot he made me feel exceptionally short, I almost missed when he spent ninety percent of his time on all fours – it didn't hurt my neck to look him in the face, then.  
Barefoot? I glanced down at his feet, noticing that he did, indeed, have claw-tipped feet. Huh.  
"The sun's going to be up soon, we need to get as much sleep as we can if we're heading out tomorrow. I don't know why you waited up for me." He said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and patting the remaining space. I kicked off my shoes and dived into the bed behind him, curling up before he could claim wall-side. Something we tended to squabble over. He hissed at me, then flopped down on his back, pulling the covers clear up over his head. I laughed, then curled up between his arm and his side, using his chest for a pillow. His skin jumped beneath my skin, and then he relaxed again. "The Hell was that?" I murmured, poking his chest to see if I could get that oddly horse-like reaction again. He hissed and skin-jumped before he grabbed my hand to prevent me from poking him again. "I haven't been without clothes for a very long time, and my skin is hypersensitive. Stop. Doing. That." He growled, and I muttered an apology. I was already distracted, however – this was the first opportunity since he'd gotten his mind back that I could actually study him, and I was curious as to what the virus had done to him. He didn't seem to have any of the lesions or boils that the other infected tended to, but, like he said, he was a good deal cleaner than them, and about the only thing I noticed wrong about him was all the scars and the odd, greyish skin tone.  
Right now, I was interested in his hands. The fingers were a little bit longer than an average human's, making his hands look disproportionately big compared to the rest of him. The skin on his fingers ended right at the second joint, and the rest of his finger – where the fingertip should be – was a thick, curved claw, about an inch long. I had to play with his hand, testing how the fingers bent and discovering that they still functioned much like human hands, except that the second joint, right at the base of the claw, could bend back at a ninety-degree angle, if not close to it. Talk about double-jointed fingers. That girl from sixth grade had nothing on him. "Cristan, how do you use your hands for anything but climbing and clawing things? I've seen you write before, but... With those claws, how?" He shrugged under me, "You learn how to compensate, kind of like those women you'd see operating checkout lines and such at Wal-mart and other stores with three inch long fake fingernails. Its difficult, but you get used to it. I doubt you'd ever see a Witch using her hands for anything constructive, though." He said with a soft laugh. The mental image of a Witch operating a checkout lane sent me into a fit of giggles, which I muffled against Cristan's side. This late, no one would appreciate getting awoken by my amusement. Cristan merely shook his head and told me to get to sleep. I eventually complied, attached to his side like a lamprey.


	7. Territorial Disputes

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**(L4D _still _isn't mine. Damn. ): )**

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: Trey isn't an Ellis wannabe, I promise. He's actually kind of a conglomeration of a bunch of people I met/ran into/traded 'hi how are you's with when I lived up in Reidsville (a good chunk of my life), and I actually use my own accent, just a little worse, for him, though Lily has something closer to my attitude. I now live in Savannah, so, one can imagine the glee-fit I had when I heard the new L4D (ie: L4D2) was set in Savannah. It's why I'm comfortable writing this fic – I know the geography of the place, and I could walk through all of Reidsville with my eyes closed. We're talking a town so little and boring that people actually set up lawn chairs at the red light to watch the cars go by.**

**I'm going to try to stay faithful to my (admittedly poor) memory of the Georgia State Prison, because I was an idiot and thought I could find the fire escape plan or blueprints for it and … uh, no. If those things were publicly available, I realized, everyone would be breaking out of the place.**

**My uncle was the head warden at GSP for about 10 years - and my grandfather was as well, before I was born - so I did go in there a couple of times, but I was little and all I remember was huge steel doors and being scared out of my mind... So I may have to get creative and kind of make up the inside of the prison as I go. Unless someone on here knows the layout.**

**I need to thank a good friend of mine, Stephanie, for Lily's first and middle names, Lily Marie. You're awesome, beb, even if you aren't reading my fic at the time. Busybusybusy. 3**

**Lily's last name, Lynn, is my grandmother's maiden name, and the name etched on the antique/heirloom Zippo that my uncle gave me for my birthday.**

**Erika is based heavily off of one of my best friends, who, of course, is named Erika. She bought me and my fiancee some of the most badass rings in existence – mine's a Predator, his is a Xenomorph – and she's been spoiling me rotten for a while now. I owe her so much in return (babe, you'll get your art soon, I promise) and I'm sorry that story!Erika is kind of a coward. I have no control over my fingertips when I type, and I don't think I could ever do you justice, beb, you're so much better than my icky little character. You'd probably single-handedly either kill or tame every zombie on Earth. xD**

**Also, to my fiance, without his pestering, I would have given up halfway through chapter one, but the constant: "Write more! I actually like reading this thing!" was enough motivation to keep going – especially since he _hates_ reading. Love you. 3**

**And to my sister, Rachel, who is the closest thing to an official beta reader I have.**

**Thank you to zigzagzoom94 for my very first review, and I believe the reason no one reviewed it was the fact that I'd barely had it up for an hour. xD**

**And another thank you to everyone who has reviewed thusfar, I'm amazed that I've only had this story up for a few days and so many people seem to like it. **

**Also, I usually average a chapter to a chapter and a half a night, chapter 7 took so long / is so short because life got in the way and I haven't been feeling well, and my updates could get rather erratic, but I'll try to keep the story updated at a regular pace.**

**Most of the grammar mistakes in this, especially from Lily's point of view, are intentional. Southern speaking translating into thought processes, I don't think differently than I talk, so, neither does Lily.**

**Another note:**

**You can find artwork of the characters from this story (mainly Cristan) here, just take out the spaces:**

**http: / parathion . deviantart . com / gallery / 28238888**

**ALL RIGHT. End of author's notes, because I can't believe I just typed a whole page when I'm the person who complains about extremely long authors notes taking up the story. This is the only time.**

**

* * *

**

_"Wake me up before I change again, remind me the story that I won't get insane. Tell me why its always the same, explain me the reason why I'm so much in pain."  
- Infected Mushroom: Becoming Insane  


* * *

_

When I woke up that morning, it was to the heavy weight of a backpack landing on my stomach. I made a disgruntled 'Oof!' sound, then glared up at Cristan, who was grinning down at me. "Up you get." He said, idly tugging at the outward edge of his nose ring with a claw. Pulling on the thing was apparently one of his nervous habits – I thought he'd been picking his nose the first time I saw him do it. I growled at him and shoved my head under the pillow. Ten more minutes before we started on that God-awful walk to Reidsville. That's all I wanted.  
Cristan sighed, then said. "Well, I suppose you'll be able to deal with the Tank running for the house, then?" The weight of the backpack vanished and I heard him walking towards the door. I was out of the bed and dressed within seconds, hauling ass after him. "Wait, what Tank? I don't hear a-" I trailed off, then glared at Cristan, Erika, Trey and Nina, who were all looking at me with varying degrees of amusement and bewilderment. "You're an ass, Cristan." I muttered, then took my pack from him and shrugged it on.  
He laughed, crouching so that Alison could grab on to his neck – he was going to carry her piggy back. "Erika and Nina did something we all agreed _not to do_," Cristan said, glaring at the two in question. Nina actually paled. "And left the safe house on their own – but it did find us a mode of transportation, provided we can either find some cleared back roads or open areas." I frowned, "What'd y'all get?" I asked, looking at the two. Erika beamed. "Fully gassed up military Humvee. Keys and all."  
I had to gape at them for a second, then I grinned, "Well, that saves our feet a bit. C'mon, we got it packed yet?"

We were actually making pretty good time – the vehicle didn't mind driving through ditches at all, and Trey was a pretty damn good driver, Erika riding shotgun – in the literal sense, gun poked out the window to take care of whatever came at the car – beside him, with Nina and I in the backseat. Cristan and Alison were sitting in the trunk area, and Cristan actually looked a bit frightened. I turned around in the seat to watch him as he held the little girl close, idly petting her hair. "What's wrong with you?" I asked as he winced when we hit a bump. "Side effect of being infected – I prefer my own two feet. This doesn't feel right." Cristan replied, only to have Trey shout from the front seat, "You better not be insultin' my drivin', man. I'll strap you to the damn cargo rack if y'are."  
Cristan went from a creamy grey to flat pasty white. "No, no, not at all, Trey." He said, leaning his head back against the side of the truck. I grimaced. The last thing I needed was for Cristan to get carsick. Lord knows what he'd eaten... or who. I did _not _want to clean that up.

We were stopped about two hours in, Cristan sitting up on the roof of the Humvee to alert us of anything bad – say, a Tank or something. He was pretty good at handling common Infected on his own. Erika, Nina and Trey had the map open and were arguing over where exactly we were. I could tell them – a soy field in bumfuck, nowhere. I was tracking a couple of common infected with my rifle when I saw a few deer off in the treeline. It was a nice thought for dinner, but we had no means of actually cleaning the deer and storing the meat. I sighed, then blinked through my scope again. Oh, shit. "Cris!" I hissed, knowing he would catch the soft noise with his acute hearing. He crawled to my side of the Humvee, peering upside-down at me. I pointed down the line of my rifle barrel. He followed my finger and his gaze rested on what had worried me – Hunters. Not the happy friendly Cristan kind, either. These were covered in boils and their skin had taken a reddish hue, clothes ripped and tattered, held on by sheer luck and a few bits of tape. I hated it when Hunters traveled in packs. There were four that I saw, which meant that at least two more were circling in from elsewhere. I ducked back inside to tell the others when I heard an almighty scream from above us – Cristan.

* * *

Encroachers!  
These are _my_ people – my foodthings, my livethings. Mineminemine.  
I let the fog swallow me temporarily. I would need it. I felt the rush of instinct and angryangryangry overwhelm the more sane, human side.  
Scream in challenge, dig into the roof, prepare to leap.  
Leader – middle one! Two more behind me. Gunfire. Agonized whimperscream from behind me. The bravethings. Helping me.  
Angry! Rage!  
Leader is _MINE._  
Scream. Leappounce. Pin. Rend. Tear. Bite. Scream. Painpainpain! Angry! Fling the subordinate off. _BANG_whimperscream. Dead. Leader on me! Painpainpain claws! More muscular than me. I know how to use myself better than bigleader. _Bangbangbang _whimpers and screams from around me. Just me and the leader now.  
Circle, look for a weak spot. Keep myself between him and the truck. My prey. Leader is mine. Scream. Leader screams back, redstained teeth bared. Lunge and swipe at throat. Roll away. Hiss and circle.  
Painpainpain! Leader on back! _Bang_scream! No! Mineminemine!  
Roll out from under the leader. Snarl. Screampounce rip tear bite claw. Never mind that he stopped moving minutes ago – mine mine mine. Bathe in the offender's blood. Noise. Voice. Look up. Little one, Lily. Not little enough to be Ali. Short little Lily. Back in the truck.  
High as a fucking kite on adrenaline – missed this so so so much. Hiss at Lily. Warn. Not sane right now. Gun pointed at me, grip shaking. "Cristan." Clear as a bell, her voice is. Angry. Angryangryangry. How dare she interrupt my kill.  
Kill is already dead.  
Disappointed.  
"Cristan – come on, now. He's dead. Come back." Soothing nonsense noises. I understand the nonsense.  
I... I...  
Fuck.  
I dropped my head into my hands, slick with Infected blood, my body was shaking from within. Adrenaline already wearing off. I lifted my head to look at Lily, blinking her back into focus. Lily, not food. Stand up, step over the torn body of the leader. Stagger a bit, catch myself on the side of the truck. Stare at the reddish skin of the dead Hunters. I hope its just due to living out in the woods and not having much in the way of covering. Don't want a new strain of this sickness. I just got my mind back. Should have thought about that. I spat, glad I hadn't actually eaten anything off of them. We'd still traded blood, though. I guess we'd find out. I peered into the truck. "Tell me..." I started. "Tell me that you found out where the fuck we are." I half crawled, half flopped over into the trunk area, finding it empty. I turned and Ali was sitting in Nina's lap, staring wide-eyed at me.  
I groaned, then collapsed into a ball of disgruntled, sore Hunter, twitching slightly when another body joined me. Lily. I shifted around to lay my head in her lap, one arm wrapping loosely around her waist. I groaned as I heard the doors slam and felt the truck start up.

* * *

Cristan lay there, complacent, as I pulled off his coat, hoodie and t-shirt, doctoring up the cuts, bites and scrapes he'd received from his fight with the other Hunter. I'd been worried when Cristan turned around and kept attacking the Hunter that I assumed was the leader even after Trey had blown half of it's face off – killing it certifiably dead. Now I was even more worried, Cristan's skin was hotter than usual – which was saying something – and he was breathing shallowly, on the verge of hyperventilation. Had those other Hunters had some sort of strange new strain of the green flu? Had Cristan caught it? Oh Lord, please don't let him go insane again. I don't want to have to shoot him.  
He merely nodded when I told him I needed to stitch a few of the cuts and moved so I would have better access. I caught him mumbling under his breath – rapid and hard to understand. Was he thinking out loud? If so... He had a strange thought process. I kept catching odd snatches of phrase and meshed together words. Then he started coughing. Oh. Shit. No.  
I finished cleaning him up, then merely laid his hoodie over him like a blanket, curling myself around him as he twitched, coughed and whimpered.

I don't know how much later it was when Trey's call woke me up, and I sat up. There was no way we could go further in the truck – the bridge was blocked off by the months-old collision of a minivan and a Mack truck. I groaned, then turned to wake up Cristan, who was silent beside me.  
He didn't respond to my gentle prodding, even though that usually had him awake within a split second. Worried, I lifted the hoodie to make sure he was still breathing – he was, fast and shallow, chest barely moving. Angry red streaks and blotches mottled his arms and torso and I cried out. It was a new strain – please don't let him go mad again. He growled, curling into himself.  
The hatch opened, and the others were standing there, attracted by my startled cry. Erika backed away when she saw Cristan, pulling Ali with her. Nina followed. Trey just stood there, looking at Cristan. "Girl, I sure don't want to shoot 'im if he turns into one of those red Hunters. He gonna be okay?" He asked, lighting up a cigarette. I shook my head, "I don't know. He's not waking up, and he's breathing so fast that I'm not sure he's even getting oxygen... But he doesn't seem hostile."  
"'Course he don't, girl. He's out cold. Very few critters can be hostile when they ain't conscious. But we gotta go, and we can't bring the truck. What we gonna do with him? Wamme to try carryin' him? He can't weigh that much." Trey said, and I looked up at him, stunned. "You'd carry a potentially dangerous..." I trailed off, then smiled, "Thank you, Trey."  
He shook his head. "Don't worry yourself about it, girl, just keep a gun on 'im for me and if he kills me, the name you should put on the stone is Trey Dolly." Drag, exhale, flick the cigarette into the river. "He's a good man, don't just wanna leave 'im here."  
"Dolly?" Nina piped up, amused. Trey just shot her a dirty look, "Got enough Hell for it in school, don't you start, woman." He snapped, then we got to the task of shoving Cristan back into his clothing and getting him adjusted, piggy-back on Trey, who was a good six inches shorter.  
"Now, I won't be able to shoot, carryin' this heavy son'bitch, y'all keep me covered, a'ight?" He asked, accent getting thicker as he got more nervous, Cristan's rather sharp teeth weren't too far from his throat. The others nodded, and I hopped out of the truck, Erika and Nina helping me with the extra weight of both Trey and Cristan's supplies, then I picked up Ali, riding her on my left hip, it left my gun hand free. I was stuck with a pistol for right now, the rifle strapped to my back, but the little girl had a gun, too, and she knew how to use it well enough, as she proved by downing three overly curious zombies before we ever had the chance to leave the truck.  
Nina had long since given up on trying to hide her from the violence that a zombie apocalypse entailed.

After we'd climbed over the wreckage on the bridge, it was pretty smooth going,. We weren't too far from the prison by this point, but if we were going to take it over – well, we needed Cristan, and he hadn't so much as twitched, not even when Trey had slipped and nearly toppled them into a ditch. I was getting more worried by the minute, my fears veering between Cristan either dying from the conflict of the two strains, or going completely insane again.  
My head snapped up from my contemplation of the cracked pavement as I heard what sounded like a deranged cow, "Ah, shit!" I hissed between my teeth, stepping closer to Trey to cover him. My left side was so sore from carrying Ali, the last thing I wanted to deal with was a Charger. Then the night got worse: Hysterical cackling joined in with the Charger's baying. I mentally counted the bullets I had in my gun, swore and reloaded awkwardly with one hand, Erika and Nina flanking Trey and I, their larger weapons held at the ready. "Ali, girl," Trey murmured from beside me, "Shoot the big 'un if he comes out, the little'un the others will handle."  
Then, the Charger came barreling out of the underbrush, hurtling straight at us. I was momentarily deafened by all of our guns going off at once, in such close proximity, and the creature slid to a stop at our feet, dead. That had been... far, far too easy.  
The maniacal giggling was getting louder, and I caught a shadow bouncing at the edge of my sight before Erika screamed. We whirled around and the little fucker was attached to her, and I couldn't get a clear shot. God, why did Cristan have to be unconscious?  
I set Ali down and ran after the two of them, the Jockey was hauling Erika towards another small bridge – enough of a drop to seriously hurt someone who couldn't at least partially control their fall, however – and I launched myself at them, grabbing on to the grimy wifebeater that the creature was wearing, Nina coming up behind me to club it in the back of the head with the butt of her gun. The creature let go, stunned, and Nina promptly blew its brains out as soon as it hit the ground.  
"Aaaaugh, fuck!" Erika cried out as soon as it was off of her, hand clapped to her mouth. I opened my mouth to ask her if she was hurt when I noticed blood dripping from her hand. "Shit, what did that little freak do to you?" I asked, moving her hand out of the way. I winced. Where her lip ring had been was now a jagged, freely bleeding tear in her lip. "C'mon, Eri, I'll get that patched up." I said, leading her back to Trey so that Nina and Ali could have an easier time guarding us.  
I dug through one of the medkits, not coming up with a whole Hell of a lot for a ripped out piercing, but I did manage to find enough to disinfect the wound – I don't want to picture what Jockeys do with their hands, I really, really don't – and I got it patched together the best I could, though stitching up someone's lip was not a fun job, especially not when I discovered that Erika had a fear of needles.  
I couldn't really equate that with all of her piercings, but it seemed genuine enough – we're talking, Trey had to set Cristan's limp form down and hold the girl still for me, type fear.  
Once that was done, and we had recollected our respective living cargo, we started walking again, though sheer joy flooded through me when I saw the sign saying that we were two miles from the prison. That joy was quickly snuffed out when I remembered that we needed everybody up and running before we could even attempt to go in there.

We eventually found a safe house near the prison, again a whole house.  
After a silent, morose dinner of various canned goods, we all went to our beds – Trey was now sleeping in Nina's room, and Erika and Ali were now bunking together. I curled myself around Cristan's still, over-heated body and for the first time since I'd met Cristan, I cried myself to sleep. Its horrible, being all but alone in a zombie apocalypse. Sure, the others were there, but they were only human.


	8. Supplies

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**(Still don't own L4D, and also, the song I used for this chapter is one of my all-time favorite songs. Go look that shit up, now.  
Random side note: The original title of this fic was going to be, "Familiarity Breeds...?" buuut... FFNet doesn't like dots and question marks.  
Also, we get Trey's POV for the very first time!**

I still haven't decided exactly what's going to happen with Cristan. Any ideas?

**AND AND AND: I did an art trade with Saya10-3 of DeviantART, and she drew Cristan. Go heeere:**

**http:/ saya10-3 . deviantart .com / art / Trade-Cristan-195562906****)**

**

* * *

**_"I burrow through the dust in your skull, but I cannot seem to find your soul."  
- Acid Bath: Graveflower  


* * *

_

It had been a week. A fucking _week._ He still hadn't moved.  
I'd checked on him that first morning in the safe house, and discovered an angry rash eating its way across his skin. I'd freaked, stripped him down and began doctoring the rash, hoping irrationally that medicine would kill it, even though I knew it was a side effect of the two strains fighting eachother.  
By the end of the second day, I'd given up on the idea of replacing his clothes only to remove them and apply more medicine over and over, and just left him naked under the sheets. He could yell at me when he woke up. If he woke up.  
Come noon the third day, Trey had to haul me bodily out of the room, and he and I started going on recon missions around the prison.  
By the sixth day, the two of us had killed nearly every Infected on the prison grounds, though we hadn't ventured inside yet. We knew every inch of the grounds by heart, every ground-level entrance and exit of the prison – there weren't a lot.  
I was glad that this was an old fashioned prison, high concrete walls and guard towers instead of razor wire and electricity. The place was imposing, but it served our needs very well.  
By morning of the seventh day, we were running dangerously low on ammo and supplies, down to two cans of food and a clip of ammo each.

Trey was going to town. He had 'volunteered' me to go, too. Bad idea, really, I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept.  
I had Cristan's machete, something he'd kept all this time, from way back when we'd first joined up with Trey and Erika. I didn't want to use the guns, we didn't have enough ammo for that. I was going to get messy, but it was the best I could do. Trey had taken Cristan's two knives and their sheath, and we set out. A couple miles down the road, Trey found and hotwired a car. Old model, no alarm. None of the cars around here seemed to have that feature, which was good. The car saved us the ten mile walk in to town, and it meant that we could carry a lot more supplies back – assuming that a Tank didn't decide to play golf with it, however.  
I leaned my head back against the headrest, closing my eyes, it took me a few minutes to register that Trey was even talking, "...Look about as grey as them zombies, girl. When's the last time you slept?" I blinked at him, frowning. "Uh?" Yeah, I was that intelligent now. He shook his head. "Lily-girl, I know that you care for that damn Hunter, but you need to look after yourself. He ain't gonna appreciate it if he wakes up and you've done gone and killed yourself 'cause you was freakin' out over him and not takin' care of yourself. Might even eat _us_ for lettin' you hurt yourself like that, 'cause that's exactly what you're doin', Lily-girl."  
I made a point of staring out of the car window at the passing scenery – holy shit, there were _live_ cows here? - and blinking furiously, trying to keep the tears at bay.  
I'm not the kind of person that cries at the drop of a pin, if I was, I'd sit my ass down by a Witch and join in her crying jag. Maybe she wouldn't eat me. But... I was so fucked up from being awake for so long, days now, and I just didn't feel right without my alarmingly tall shadow. My moods were doing some insane things. "I know, Trey, I know, but I... I don't want to sleep in case he needs me, in case something bad happens." I whispered, gnawing my bottom lip. I heard the click of the zippo that Trey'd snagged off of a zombie, smelled the smoke before he cracked the window. "I know, girl, but what if you're so damn sleep deprived that if he does need you, y'can't function well enough to help 'im?" He said, exhaling smoke. I nodded, closing my eyes. "How much further, Trey?" Anything to avoid the subject.  
"About two miles to town itself. Then we'll see what we got when we get there." He frowned, then continued, "It kinda bugs me, though. There ain't any cars piled up or blockin' shit off like there was in Savannah. Wonder if we got survivors here?"  
"Maybe, I don't know. Might just be 'cause the place is so small, the infection might have hit while most people were in their homes." I said, then held out my hand, "Mind giving me a drag, Trey? I think I need it." He stared at me like I was insane, which didn't do much for my mood, then his wide mouth split in a grin. "Now, girl, wasn't it you bitchin' at me and Cris because we were gonna give ourselves lung cancer?" I snarled and snatched the cigarette from him, inhaling as I'd seen those two doing... And I promptly dissolved into a fit of coughing and gagging, eyes streaming.  
"Ye-e-e-ah," Trey said, "Them ain't good cigarettes, stale, kinda. But if you gotta puke, I'm not stoppin', just hang your head out the window." I glared at him through my coughing fit, eventually sucking air in in a ragged gasp. "How the fuck do you two do it?" I wheezed, looking down at the little white burning thing in my hand. I caught Trey's shrug out of the corner of my eye, "Y'get used to it quick. Try again, a little nicotine buzz wouldn't go wrong with you, girl." He said, lighting himself another cigarette. I snorted, then tried again, this time with marginally better results.  
The rest of the ten minute drive was spent with Trey teaching me the fine art of smoking cigarettes and avoiding running over the infected at the same time – I didn't understand why he didn't just plow them over and put them out of their misery, but he had a point: we needed the car to be relatively undamaged, and to quote him, 'them zombie fuckers would fuck up the alignment somethin' awful.'

Once the short ride was over and we were parked in front of the grocery store – what was with all the stores in this town being named after people? - I was actually in a much better mood, even though I still felt slightly sick from the cigarette. Not a habit I understood, really, and I had no one but myself to blame if I started filching more from Trey.  
We ventured in, Trey actually snagging a shopping cart and shoving it ahead of himself, asking me to cover him and the cart. Easy to do, there weren't a lot of zombies in extremely-small-town Georgia. Only about forty all together in the grocery store, and most of them were easy to avoid, wasted, starving things.  
I had noticed that the common infected didn't have the survival instincts of the 'special' infected – they sat there, listless and puking up their own guts unless something bothered them... I'd never actually seen one eat, either, unless they'd killed a human – then they'd take a few bites here and there, not enough to live on. It was the 'special' ones that were big into cannibalism. So, with my machete, the place was relatively easy to clear, especially since I'd realized long ago that you could get so much closer to them when you didn't use your flashlight.  
The aisles seemed relatively untouched, odd, really, that no one had seemed to think of this town and the prison. Then Trey reached out and grabbed my arm, clamping his hand over my mouth before jerking his head towards the end of the aisle, and the crying finally broke into my internal rambling.  
Oh. That's why the grocery store was untouched. It wasn't just one Witch I heard, I heard several, and soft giggles and snorts from a few aisles over. Jockey. Good Lord, we knew how to pick places, didn't we?  
I edged away from Trey, rounding the corner of the aisle and turning down the next one, where the sugar was kept... and nearly tripped over at least five Witches huddled around the bags of sugar, weeping uncontrollably. I made a strangled, choking noise, the product of swallowing a scream – I actually think I swallowed air, there, because my stomach suddenly did not like me. Sugar had been on the shopping list, too, unfortunately.  
I closed my eyes, willing a little bit of courage into myself, ignoring Trey's hissed warnings and 'what the hell are you fucking doin' you crazy bitch?' statements, and I knelt beside one of the Witches – she was hunched over a five pound bag of sugar, and she was delicately eating individual grains snagged on those wicked, foot-long claws, while still sobbing her heart out. I had to give her credit, she was talented.  
I exhaled, making myself as thin as possible, reaching past her to the shelf – the Witch paused in her eating, growling softly – and I snagged one of the bags of sugar that they hadn't gotten into yet, when the growling got louder, quickly degenerating into shrieks. The other Witches were staring at me and snarling as well. I eased the sugar into my lap, then repeated the process, getting a second bag with excruciating slowness. She hadn't moved yet, she was just not pleased with my proximity, but she hadn't gone from _warning _to _kill_ yet.  
Once I had three bags of sugar, I slid backwards, not daring to breathe, until I was at Trey's feet and a good ten feet from the Witches, who slowly settled back down into their sugar binge. I was glad that there was enough sugar there to keep them uninterested in what I'd snagged – the last thing I needed was for one of them to get up and start wandering after us, keening after our sugar.  
The rest of the items were relatively easy to get, canned goods and various dried foods, several gallons of distilled water – did I mention that we made two trips back to the car? – we also cleaned out the grocery store's limited medicine section... And then I decided I wanted coffee, I knew how to make the stuff on the stove, but I actually needed the coffee to make it.  
Unfortunately, the Jockey had beat us to the coffee aisle, and was busy stuffing his face full of un-ground coffee beans. Well, that explained the hyperactive behavior. "Shit." I muttered, glaring at the little freak that had yet to notice us. "You really want your caffeine that bad, girl?" Trey asked, watching as the creature slowly worked itself up to lethal levels of the chemical. "Hell, yes." I replied, switching my grip on the machete. I snuck up behind the Jockey, who turned at the last second, only to have the butt of my weapon bash into his head – he flopped over with one last gigglesnort. I was pretty sure I hadn't killed him, but I didn't really want to waste the time. I grabbed up a few bags of un-ground coffee, snatched a grinder off the shelf, and added a few cans of normal, ground up coffee to the basket for good measure.  
Thus finished, we made our way out of the store, dropping off our basket-full at the car, then we headed to the pharmacy just down from the grocery store, though I did duck in to the little hole-in-the-wall thrift store between the two for a few minutes, loading some new – to us, at least – clothes and a couple of board games into the basket. I avoided the Chinese restaurant altogether, the stench coming from inside bespoke of extremely spoiled food.

Once we were in the pharmacy, it was a simple mission of 'grab anything and everything that looks useful, grab the desk reference books for the shit we're not so sure on' and then it was back to the car.  
We peeled out right as we heard the rumblings of a Tank, laughing our asses off at our success. We stopped by the gas station, snagging several cans of fuel, which went in the floorboard under my feet – we didn't have anywhere else left in the car to store anything, that's how much we'd gotten.  
We'd almost forgotten one of the most important things, though – ammunition.  
We scoured a couple of pawn shops before settling on a little hardware store, which, surprisingly, actually had a good deal of .22 bullets and some shotgun shells. We cleaned them out, too, dumping the ammo and a couple of .22 rifles in the back seat along with the food.  
Then, we headed for home.

"Holy _shit._" Erika said, peering inside the car, "We could live off of this for months. Is there anything left at the store?" She asked, looking up at me. I grinned, "Not a lot, I wasn't able to get much sugar on account of the Witches, but they were nice enough to let me snag some." I ended in a sing-song, still feeling the adrenaline rush of a run gone well. She blinked at me, "Witches?" I nodded, then Trey launched into the story of Lily versus the wicked Witches, and I left him to it, starting in on unloading the car.  
The others eventually pitched in and we got everything sorted out and put away before dark, and once we were done, I hauled ass upstairs with an armload of medicine, back to doctoring up Cristan.

The rash was almost gone, though he still had the angry red blotches on his skin where the rash had been, I wasn't sure if those were going to fade. I touched the antiseptic medicine to the few remaining bits of rash and I was rewarded with my first sign of life in a week: Cristan twitched away from the stinging medicine with a guttural groan, though he didn't seem to be close to waking up yet. It still made my heart jump, maybe he would be okay. I shoved down the nagging voice in the back of my head that joined in with, _Yeah, and maybe he'll try to rip your spleen out the second he opens his eye. _I shook my head, then, finished with the medicine, I took a small pen light and checked his pupil – it was finally responding again, pupil contracting to painful-looking pinpoint dot in the light. Another hiss, and he jerked his head away from me.  
I sighed, sitting back. It was more like he was deeply asleep than in a coma, now. Maybe this would end well. I just hope the second strain hadn't ruined what grasp on sanity he had.  
I snuggled down next to him, using only the top blanket so that the sheet was still between the two of us – the last thing I wanted was for Cristan to wake up, flip out about his lack of clothing, and then flip out worse about me being all cuddled up to him, so, sheet it was.  
I sacked out before my head even hit the pillow. Trey was right, this playing insomniac was going to kill me.

* * *

I headed upstairs, intent on telling Lily that it was dinner time and she needed to eat _something._ God a'mighty, I'd never seen a woman this worked up before, it was kinda scary.  
I slipped inside the room, always quiet when I came in here – wasn't like I was gonna wake Cris's comatose ass up, so I don't know why I bothered, only to stop inside the doorway. Poor girl was so damn asleep that I could hear her snoring from over here, and the girl hardly ever snored. Cristan still lay there, limp and not-responsive as ever, though I noticed he was curled up on his side, and Lily usually left him on his back. Maybe he was coming to? Here's hoping he was sane when he woke up.  
I backed out of the room, turning and heading back downstairs. Nina looked up at me, "Where's Lily?" She asked, used to me dragging the ghost-pale girl out of the room forcibly by now. I shook my head, "Lily-girl's dead to the world, I ain't wakin' her up. She's been up at least three days straight." I said, and Erika nodded, running her finger along the scab from where that little giggly fucker had ripped out her lip ring. "Yeah, she was starting look like a zombie herself, lets just let her sleep. You two have done plenty today, and I don't see the need to disturb her. We'll just make sure she eats in the morning."  
I grunted assent, plopping down on the couch next to Nina and tearing into whatever can was chunked my way, apparently it was chili tonight. I laughed to myself, way back when this had started, I'd sliced my hands open multiple times trying to get in to cans with a pocket knife. I'd become something of an expert at it, now.  
Nina shoved her can towards me after I'd gotten mine open, and I deftly removed the top. She hadn't mastered the fine skill of pocket-knife-can-openers yet.  
I munched away at my cold dinner, peering into the kitchen – where every cabinet was stuffed full of canned food, and Lily's hard-earned bags of sugar sat on the counter. "That girl's fuckin' insane." I muttered to myself. Nina tilted her head at me, and I elaborated, "Sittin' down next to Witches and clubbin' Jockeys over the head so she can have her mornin' cup of coffee? Brave, stupid, or insane. And I know she ain't stupid."  
Both the girls agreed, then Erika started laughing, "I could just picture her walking up to those damn Witches, polite-as-you-please. Wouldn't surprise me if she'd actually asked nicely for the sugar." I snickered. "Yeah, no shit. Them bitches started snarlin' and raisin' Hell as soon as she got _one _bag, but she sat there, calm as you please, and got two more, and I was sittin' there the entire time thinkin' we'd just lost our Lily-girl to a sugar craving. Guess bein' 'round a Hunter for a while taught her how to deal with cantankerous Infected, 'cause if it was me, I'da been haulin' ass as soon as I saw them." I said, and Erika nodded, "You couldn't have paid me enough – I would have just skipped the sugar altogether. Actually, is the sugar even still good? It's been a while since anything remotely human was in that store, are we sure there aren't bugs in it?"  
"Ew, Erika, eating over here." Nina piped up from beside me, glaring at Erika. I snorted, shaking my head and tossing the empty can of chili clear through the room, surprised as Hell when it actually landed in the trash can in the kitchen.  
I stood up, pulling a sharpie out of my backpack and walking over to one of the walls, a nice, cream color. I uncorked the sharpie and began to write, only pausing to ask Erika how she spelled her name. "With a K, and I will beat you if you start spelling it with a C." She let me know.  
Ten minutes later, I stepped back from the wall and read my message:

_We are planning a Takeover of the Georgia State Prison, which is about a Mile and a half from this safe House. If successful, we will be able to offer a safe Place, with Food, water, and Shelter. We cannot help you if you are not immune, because We know for sure that at least One of our group is a Carrier.  
If we succeed, we will Let you know on this Wall.  
- Trey Dolly, Erika H., Nina Ricardo, Lily Lynn, Cristan Wight and Alison Edin._

"I'm guessing Cristan is the verified carrier?" Nina drawled, reading over my message. I chuckled, "Yeah, I'd say so, Nin'."  
"Trey, you could at least learn how to write properly," Erika groused, reading over the message. I frowned, "What's wrong with it?" I asked, and she proceeded to point out all of my capitalization errors. This, I answered with a particularly crude hand gesture, but I laughed anyway.  
We went to bed not too long after that, I stayed up a bit longer to check the windows and doors, making sure they were double and triple-barricaded. Then, I crawled in bed next to Nina and crashed, somewhere near relaxed for the first time since the infection had hit.


	9. Reawakening

**CHAPTER NINE**

**(Again, L4D is not mine.)**

**Sorry for the wait~~ Have a nice long chapter as my apology.  
Reviews make my day. Srsly. Want to make me a happy Laura? Just throw a review my way. I'd love to know what you people think of my story, if there's any glaring errors I need to fix. Actually, since I just read something similar in a different fic, I think I'ma take their idea and interrogate you people – read at the bottom of the chapter for the questions. I want them answered, even anonymous reviews/answers are good~~**

**Also, check my profile for a metric ton of drawings of the characters / etc from this story, mainly Cristan. **

**I'm also holding Hunter OC art trades, again, go to my profile and click the link to my dA for details~**

**(Also! The song lyric I used actually _has something to do with the story_ for once! Just... if you blink, you might miss it. xD)**

* * *

"_I'm not afraid of being sick, I'm more afraid of being well."  
- Jack Off Jill: Fear Of Dying  


* * *

_

Trey and Nina were gone. They'd gone to town after Erika had spotted smoke from that direction. Smoke meant some form of uninfected life, at least, that's what we were hoping.  
I sat at the kitchen table, idly etching designs into the top of it with a small pocket knife while drinking a cup of coffee. Cristan was looking better, and he was back to making odd sounds in his sleep again. He didn't snore, but he was prone to growling and making curious chirping noises, kind of like a cat. I wouldn't be surprised if he started running after things in his sleep.  
The red from the rash had faded, though the discoloration remained on his fingers and toes, streaking back over the tops of his hands and feet. If that was the worst that happened, I'd be happy.  
I knocked back the rest of my coffee, then stood, slipping the little knife into my pocket. First I went to check on Erika, who had been complaining of a headache. She was curled up on the couch, asleep. I hoped she hadn't taken anything too strong for her headache, otherwise it would just be me, by myself, defending this place. I continued upstairs, bypassing the room I shared with Cristan to check on Ali. I'd asked Nina how they were sisters, because Nina had a distinctly Mexican look, and Ali was very, very white, almost to the point of albinism. It turned out to be a little bit complicated – Nina's father had remarried, and the woman he'd married had been barren, so she'd adopted Alison. It was only sheer luck, not genetics, that had them both immune to the green flu.  
I stood at the door of Alison and Erika's room, watching the girl as she played with a little rag doll that Cristan had found for her somewhere. I smiled, Cristan did have a thing for Ali, and I just couldn't quite wrap my head around a Hunter liking kids, but, well, I reminded myself that he did have a son. The smile died with that thought, and I sighed, turning and walking back to our room.  
Cristan had moved again, now he was sprawled out, spread-eagle across the whole damn bed, the sheet tangled up around his torso and one of his legs, the other leg was bare to his hip. I blinked. Might wanna look in to redressing him, here soon. There were just some things I could do without seeing.  
Of course, I got sidetracked, his leg caught my attention because he had it sticking straight out, muscles clenched and toes curled under. I frowned, wondering why the Hell he had his leg like that, or if it had cramped up. I sat down, pulling the stiff, resistant limb into my lap to see what was going on. He immediately relaxed, toes wiggling before he went still again. I bit my lip to keep from laughing, then idly prodded at his leg, wondering if I could get him to move now. It didn't work, though the muscles under my hand felt strange. "The Hell?" I murmured, probing along the back of his calf, then about halfway up his thigh. Gnawing on my lower lip in confusion, I reached down to feel along the back of my own leg. "That's not right..." I muttered, comparing my leg to his.  
"What's not right?" A groggy voice said from the doorway, and I jumped, jerking around to see who had startled me. Erika. I relaxed, then gestured to Cristan's leg. "His leg feels completely different from mine." I said. She shrugged, "Well, yeah, he's almost two feet taller than you. You've got smaller muscles, probably."  
I shook my head, "No, it's not that. Its like he's got more muscle, or like his muscles are all in the wrong place." Erika frowned, then walked into the room, I made room for her to sit by me, which put me directly between Cristan's knees. Lord God, please don't wake up right yet, Cris, this would be hard to explain.  
I shifted his leg a little bit to make the muscles move, and Erika made a soft, almost surprised noise. "Do that again." She said, so I did, and she pointed along the line of his calf, up into his thigh. "I've never seen muscles move there on anyone before. May I...?" She asked, and I shrugged, leaning back. She set her hands into his lower leg, turning to me a few seconds later. "You're right." She said, then stood up, probably not comfortable sharing space with a naked Hunter. "I think its the infection." I said, "Because, I mean, he did do parkour before he was infected, but that wouldn't account for how he can jump so far – or survive leaping off of ridiculously high things. I mean, the first day I met him, he jumped us out of a sixteenth floor window, and the building he landed on was a good fifty feet below us, not something any human could survive without broken bones, and then he jumped from a six story building to the ground and kept going without so much as a limp."  
Erika stared at me, then started to pace. "I had no idea he was capable of that, though it would explain how good Hunters are at popping out of the most random places. We wouldn't even consider that they'd be able to withstand that kind of damage. But... How?" She asked, then answered herself. "Obvious. The infection mutates them, I mean, you just have to look at, say, Smokers or Witches. His bones are probably reinforced, and those odd muscles are probably what turns him into a human flea."  
"A flea?" I asked, somewhat irked by the association to such an annoying pest animal. Erika explained, "Fleas can jump the farthest, for their body size, of any animal on earth. What they can jump would be like one of us jumping two or three football fields, and if they jump straight up, it'd be like jumping the Eiffel tower to us."  
"Oh. Huh. That's actually pretty neat." I said, then went back to her other topic. "So, you're saying that he's got... springs and shocks in his legs?" Erika nodded, "Essentially. His spine's probably strengthened, too, as with his arms-" She cut off when someone started beating on the door to the safe house. We looked at each other and simultaneously went for our guns, just in case it wasn't Trey.  
We headed downstairs to a rather interesting surprise.

Trey had brought us not one, but two survivors – almost three, considering that the woman was at least six months pregnant. They were immune, thank God, and had the bites and scratches to prove it. The woman was Clara, and the man was Dan. Just plain old Dan. They weren't married, not even in a relationship. Just friends. Clara's husband had turned into a Smoker, apparently, and she'd run like Hell to Dan's house, hoping he hadn't turned into something worse. They'd been traveling ever since.  
I, personally, was patently amazed that she hadn't miscarried or been killed. Being pregnant made her twice the target: more food to the zombies, and slower, weaker prey.  
She also really didn't seem to have the grit for a zombie apocalypse, constantly darting furtive looks around, twitching at the slightest noise outside. I noticed she didn't seem to be carrying any weapons, either. I asked where her gun was, and she turned wide, deer-in-the-headlights eyes to me, "They're still human, I couldn't possibly shoot one of them, or hurt one." She said, and I swear, Trey, Erika, Nina and I all had matching dumbfounded expressions. Trey was the first to speak. "Woman, how the _fuck_ have you lived this long without _defendin'_ yourself?" He said while lighting a cigarette, the words muffled around the butt.  
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't swear at her, sir." Dan, plain old Dan, said, stepping between the now distraught-looking woman and Trey, who's hand not so subtly fell to the small of his back, where he kept his pistol tucked into his pants. I stepped up beside Trey, putting a hand on his arm before turning to Dan, "Its a valid question. She's pregnant and definitely not a threat, so how has she avoided becoming an Infected's lunch? How have you two lived, when she's so anti-violence? How do you expect to keep living? You can't run when a Hunter's pinned you, or a Smoker's tongued you, or when a Jockey's sitting on your back, so how do you expect to defend yourself from these things?"  
"We listen out for the noises that they make and we take cover." She said from behind Dan, "They're still human, just sick." I stole a look at Dan's face, and there was a hardness there that said that he didn't agree with her at all on that, that he probably shot without thinking. I smiled, "Dan, what's your opinion on them?"  
He turned those exasperated eyes on me, "I avoid shooting them around her, but I believe that they're just like rabid animals – there's no helping them except with a bullet." Said softly, but with a steely resolution. Clara gasped behind him, clapping her hand to her mouth. "How can you say that, Dan? What if there's a cure?" She asked, voice rising slightly. "Haven't you noticed the way that the government's curing this? They carpet bombed New Orleans, Clara. That's their _cure. _Just because you're still so in love with your Hippocratic Oath... Doesn't mean any of their doctors or scientists are." He retorted, sitting back down on the couch. I stared at the shrinking, cowardly woman, surprised. "You're a doctor?" I asked, and she nodded, "I had a small general practice office. I'm not a surgeon or anything."  
I made excuses to go grab food while I thought that over. If I could get her to understand Cristan was – maybe – harmless, maybe, just maybe she could help him. Dan probably wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet between his eyes, though. That could be a problem.  
I sighed, munching away on my canned fruit, listening to the muffled conversation from the next room. The voices receded upstairs, and I paused with the spoon halfway to my mouth. Had I shut the door to mine and Cristan's room?  
Something in my chest froze when I heard a distinctive scream from upstairs. That wasn't a human scream, that was – "Cristan!" I cried out, tearing out of the kitchen in time to hear all Hell break loose. Two gunshots, everyone screaming, Cristan snarling, and Dan being hauled bodily down the stairs by Trey. Trey screaming at him, "Did you hit him? Did you hit him?" And Dan shaking his head. I vaguely heard Trey, relieved, saying something about Dan's shitty aim. I was already past them, up on the landing, shoving past Erika and Nina, past Clara, who had frozen, statue still in the center of my room, and then I stopped dead.  
Cristan was awake, but I wasn't so sure he was still Cristan. That single eye was fixed on me, his lips pulled back to show those jagged, razor sharp teeth. He was crouched at the top corner of the bed, backside wedged against the wall, the sheet was still wrapped around his thigh, but it wasn't doing too much to keep him modest. That was the last thing I was worried about though.  
"He was coughing – I just wanted to make sure he was all right. I didn't know he was – was – he's infected, oh God, those were Dan's last bullets, we're going to die, we're going to die." I could hear the pregnant woman's frantic whispers behind me, hear her bordering on hyperventilation.  
"Calm down." I hissed, not sure if I was talking to her, myself, or Cristan. Cristan growled, and I watched as the muscles of his arms and legs slid, tightening and coiling to spring. Holy shit, he was going to pounce one of us. I raised my gaze to his eye, and my heart stopped.  
That spark, that glimmer of intelligence usually present in his gaze, in the eyes of anyone human, wasn't there. The soul, if you wanted to call it that. It was like looking into the eyes of a wild, vicious animal. Actually, the first thing that came to mind was a cornered rat.  
I sucked in a breath, then slowly edged towards the bed, Cristan's low, rumbling growl getting higher in pitch the closer I got, his entire body tensing up. He leaned back slightly, fingers digging into the bed, ready to throw himself forwards. I didn't stop. "Lily-girl, what the fuck are you doing?" I heard Trey from the doorway. Cristan's head snapped towards the noise and he screamed, angry. Cornered. I paused near the side of the bed. "Trey, get Clara out of the room, the rest of y'all, back off. We have him outnumbered and cornered, he's liable to trip the fuck out if we're all piled in here." I spoke soft and low, just loud enough for them to hear me. I heard Trey edging into the room behind me, Cristan's gaze flicking between him and me – he snarled and scooted further back when he realized how close I'd gotten, swiping at me. I knew the damage those claws could do. I stepped back, then braced myself. As soon as I heard Trey and Clara's footsteps reach the door, I jumped. I was hoping the same tactic I'd used all that time ago, back in the hotel, would still work. Pin the Hunter, ride out the resulting panic attack, and hopefully he'd calm down and go submissive again.  
Only thing I chose to forget, however, was that when I'd done that, he'd hadn't been trying to eat me.  
He reared up the second my foot hit the bed – even only half-standing, he was so much bigger than me. I think I lost my mind somewhere – and met me midair. I felt my breath leave in a sudden _wumph _as what felt like his fist collided with my right side, a small part of me cheering that he'd punched me, not clawed me. I couldn't hear anything over the buzz of adrenaline in my ears. He knocked me back, and I rolled out of the way before he could land on me, teeth snapping a hair's breadth from the back of my neck. I went after him again and he lifted up on his knees, arms spread to attack. I hit him, full force, knocking him backwards on the bed, landing on him. I saw his eye widen slightly – I had him pinned, just like the Hunters pinned us, knees to either side of his ribcage – and then as I was fighting to grab his hands, he hit my side again, this time I think I felt a rib crack. Felt like being whacked with a metal pipe. I grunted, my free hand coming around to backhand him, the back of my hand connecting to the side of his face with a sharp crack. It gave him enough pause that I could finally grab his other wrist, shoving down with adrenaline-fueled strength. He could have probably still kicked my ass, but I had his arms pinned at an angle where he couldn't work the right muscles to get them to move. He snarled, screamed and reared up, teeth snapping a few centimeters from my chin. I felt his legs writhing behind me, trying to find purchase on the bed. I did what was possibly the most stupid thing I have ever done – I lunged right into the teeth, ducking down just as I felt them scrape along my cheek, closing my own jaws around his throat and biting down – hard.  
He froze, then bucked under me, straining against the hold I had on him. I locked my knees around his sides and held on tighter with teeth and hands, that little voice in the back of my head wondering when his left hand had become so slippery.  
I tasted blood, and he made a strangled whining noise, freezing mid-motion. I growled around his throat, shaking my head slightly. Okay, maybe I'd paid way too much attention to my dog when he'd bullied the other mutts in the neighborhood – compensating for the fact that my cat could kick his ass six ways to Sunday, probably.  
Cristan whined again, going limp under me, all of the fight leaving his body, leaving me sitting on a shaking, extremely bony naked man instead of an irate Infected.  
My entire body was sore, though my side, arms, and thighs where his hipbones had bruised my inner legs were protesting the loudest. I didn't move though, or let up my grip. My jaws were aching, but I didn't want to let go only to have my throat ripped out. I felt his breathing go from shallow gasps to a steady inhale-pause-exhale rhythm, and he shifted slightly, trying to move. I still refused to let go. He swallowed, then gently twisted his wrist, the slippery left hand, dislodging my suddenly weak grip. I felt woozy, dizzy, the room was threatening to tilt sideways, and I tensed as I realized I'd lost grip. Lord, my side was burning.  
He brought his now-free hand up to cup the back of my head in his palm as he made a soft rumbling noise deep in his chest, it made my brain rattle from where I was attached to his neck. He slowly slid his hand from the back of my head down my spine, then back up. Slow, gentle, claws held out of the way. I finally let go, struggling to sit up, but only managing to lift up a few inches before the room tilted crazily. I collapsed back on to his chest, panting. What was _wrong_ with me?  
His arm locked around me, holding me to him as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, my legs now sticking out to either side of his hips. I started laughing, thinking that this probably looked... less than chaste to everyone standing in the door. At least I was wearing pants and not a skirt. I heard his worried hiss, raising my gaze to look at him before dissolving into further helpless giggles, looking down at my lap. I stopped laughing and made a soft moaning noise. My side felt like it was on fire and... Why was the leg of my pants that color? These pants were supposed to be blue, not rust-brown and red. I tried to lift my arm to look at my side and gasped as agony tore its way from my armpit to my hip. The adrenaline was gone. I wasn't immortal anymore. I gritted my teeth.  
Cristan hadn't hit me at all.  
I'd forgotten that the worse a wound was, the less it hurt at first. I thought he'd hit me, close handed. I didn't realize... Oh, God.  
He'd ripped my side open. Ten gashes from the two times he'd 'hit' me. No, not ten gashes. He'd actually ripped skin off. It was like one ragged, open wound with smaller wounds around it. I could see my fucking ribs. I remember sucking in a breath to scream, and then the world went black.

* * *

I remembered a woman, not my Lily, not Erika, not Nina. She was rounded in the middle. Pregnant. I remember feeling sheer terror. I wanted out of here. Shadows standing around the room. Cornering me. I wanted to attack, to free myself. Something came at me. Rival Hunter, or someone attacking me. I didn't understand why. I didn't know where I was. I knew I was exposed. I wanted my fucking hoodie. I wanted _pants._  
I fought with the blur that was attacking me. I tried my damnedest to kill it. Then it got its teeth in my throat. It forced me to calm down. It forced me to actually take stock of my situation.  
And now I'm sitting here, holding Lily as she bleeds all over the fucking bed, and I have no idea what to do. I hear a cry and Erika's flying into the room. Too fast, everyone's moving too fast. I just need to hold Lily together. She'll fall apart if I let go.  
"Cristan." I hear Erika. She sounds far away, even though she's sitting right by me. I turn my head to look at her, choking on whatever I was going to say. There's nothing I _can_ say. I probably just killed another person I loved. "Cris, give her here. We have a doctor with us. She might be able to help Lily, but only if you let us have her. The longer you sit there and hold her, the less time we have to save her."  
I blinked, trying to process what she was saying, then I slowly slid off the bed, holding Lily. I think I must have made some sort of pathetic whimpering noise, because Erika flinched, probably expecting me to go for her throat, too.  
I ignored her, stumbling over to Trey, who had his gun out and pointed at me. I stopped a few feet from him, "Please." It hurt to talk, felt like I hadn't used my voice in a long time. The gun wavered, then he put it away, holding out his arms. "Give her t'me, man." He murmured, and I slid Lily into his arms, immediately aware of the fact that I was standing there, naked. Why the Hell?  
"Getcha a bath and some clothes, man, we'll take care of her." Trey said before he left the room, carrying the most important person in the world.

* * *

I don't know how much later it was when I woke up. It hurt to breathe, the skin on my side pulling, then sharp pain. I groaned and went to push the cause of the pain away, only to have my wrists grabbed and pinned down, Trey's familiar voice in my ear, "Be still, Lily-girl, she's still stitchin' you up. You was tore up pretty bad." I realized that I had my head in his lap, I think I was on the coffee table. Whatever I was laying on was hard. Smells reached my nose, then, and I decided I was on the kitchen table. I whimpered, my head still fuzzy. I wanted Cristan. Never mind the fact that he was the one who had done this, I wanted him here, not Trey.  
"Cris?" I forced out, probably didn't even sound like English. "No, Lily-girl, not Cris." I heard Trey's worried voice again. I hadn't opened my eyes, yet. I shook my head. "No... Where – where is he?" I tried to move again, and I felt Trey's hands on my shoulders, holding me down. "Lily-girl, be _still_. She's not done. I think Cris is tryin'a drown himself, he's been in the shower for the past three hours. I know we ain't got that much hot water. Nin' and Eri are talkin' to him through the door, though. He's fine. He's just upset. Now shush and let the good doctor work on you, girl." I cracked my eyes open, discovering that Trey's nose was only a few inches from mine, and he looked worried as Hell. And I was cold. My entire upper body was freezing. I realized about two seconds later that this was because I was shirtless. I made a sharp noise of protest, trying to move my arms up only to have a second set of hands hold me down. Much smaller hands. Ali's little girl voice. "We aren't lookin', miss Lily, we promise. Mr. Trey's been watchin' your nose real hard this entire time. Miss Clara just needs to be able to get to your whole side, and we can't cover you up yet. Please don't get mad at us." She sounded like she was about to cry.  
I moaned, closing my eyes again. I was not happy about this situation. Not one bit. "Ali doesn't need to see this." I mumbled, completely forgetting the fact that the little girl was even better than I was at getting headshots on zombies. "And I will rip your spleen out, Trey, if you look anywhere other than my face." I slit my eyes at him, noting for the first time that he looked distinctly uncomfortable... and he was staring very pointedly at my nose. "Why the Hell aren't one of the girls doing this?" I asked, my speech was coming a bit easier now, and talking was helping me ignore the pain in my side. Trey laughed softly, "I ain't lookin', you'd have to beat Nina to killing me. Probably Cris, too, if he knew. I was the only one able to handle lookin' at your side. The girls can kill zombies, but they both turned green at the idea of you bein' this hurt." He said, and I sighed, remembering something I'd been meaning to get on to him about. I didn't exactly feel sane yet, laying half-naked on a table, so I had no qualms with just blurting out the first thing that came to mind. "Speaking of Nina, Trey," I said, "You two really need to learn how to be quiet – stop waking me up, or I'm gonna come in there with a bucket of cold water, clear?"  
The embarrassed tinge to his face abruptly darkened to something near purple. "Oh, fuck – Lily-girl, I'm sorry, I thought we was – well, you know, bein' quiet." I merely raised a brow at him, and then I went tense when I smelled soap and heard a low, rumbling growl.  
Trey turned quickly to look towards the door, eliciting a pained protest from me, and a rebuke from Clara for jarring me. "Cris, finally crawl out of the shower?" He drawled, probably trying to be lighthearted about the situation, though I had a distinct feeling that Cristan was about ready to throttle him for being so close to me in such a vulnerable state – even though the only time Cris had seen me even close to this undressed, I'd screamed and thrown things at him. I tried to turn my head to see him, but all I could see was Trey's leg. Then his shadow fell over me as he circled around the table, teeth bared at Trey, who held his arms up in surrender. "Dude, I ain't lookin' at your girl, I promise. I'm just here for moral support, and to hold her down when Clara hits a sore spot." I noted that Trey was suddenly very pale, and his hands were shaking like he hadn't had a cigarette in hours. I looked up at Cristan, using up what little bit of strength I had to reach out and grab his sleeve. He shuddered under my hand, trying to step away, but I dug my fingers into the fabric of his coat, holding him. I heard Clara's breathing, faster than it had been. She was scared of Cristan, but I still wasn't. "You know, Cris, I'd be a lot more comfortable if you were the one sitting up here with me, and Nina wouldn't have a reason to kill Trey." I said, and he looked down at me, face twisted into a pained grimace. "Why would you be more comfortable?" He asked, and I let out a breath of relief. He still spoke, thank God. "I did this to you, why are you more at ease around me?" He sounded confused and so sad. He reached his hand out, tracing his clawtips across the five shiny pink scars on my chest where he'd clawed me back at the first safe house, back when they had first learned what he was. I shivered, the light scrape of his claws tickling. Then his hand moved to my arm, the four gashes where he'd laid me open after his nightmare before we'd met Eri and Trey. The scars there were white, now. He finally looked down at my side, where he'd just almost eviscerated me. Trey cleared his throat, and Cristan's gaze snapped up to him. "I know that I'd sure be more comfortable if you were the one sittin' here, now that you're sane again, man. I keep waitin' for one of y'all to strangle me for bein' here, and my legs are asleep." Trey said, and I nodded, "Please, Cris." I couldn't tell him why I was more 'at ease' around him. I wasn't even sure I could explain that one to myself. He sighed, then gestured to Clara to stop stitching me up for a moment, he hopped up onto the table, ignoring the pregnant woman's flinch. Trey lifted my upper body, and I made a pained noise at the movement, then he was sliding out from under me and Cris was taking his place.  
Trey left the room so fast that I was pretty sure he left a vapor trail. Probably to go beg forgiveness from Nina.  
I closed my eyes, rubbing the side of my face against Cristan's leg – it was the best I could do to really assure myself that he was there, and then I gritted my teeth as Clara went to work again. Apparently, I wasn't going to die just yet, as long as the wounds didn't get infected. He sighed, then leaned over me to – after careful maneuvering, making sure no skin made contact – lay his sleeved arm across my chest, effectively shielding me from anyone who happened to walk in. He lowered his head, and I was shocked to feel him plant a light kiss on my forehead – definitely a comforting, soothe-the-child type kiss, not a romantic one, but it still surprised the Hell out of me. He then looked up at Clara, watching as she stitched me back together. "Will she be all right?" He asked, and she flinched again, looking up at him with wide eyes, as if surprised that he could speak – even though he'd carried on a very brief conversation with us just a minute ago. She swallowed, hard, then flicked her eyes to me, as if debating how much she could say around me. I grunted, "If I'm going to die, I'd like to know, Clara. I can handle bad news." I said, lifting my head a little bit, so that I could see her better.  
She sighed, then shrugged. "I'm doing the best I can – I'm almost done with the stitches, then I'm going to wrap her up. They have a lot of medical supplies here, so I should be able to keep her side from getting infected, keep her on antibiotics, but once she heals enough to be able to move, its up to her to work her body back into shape – her right side's going to be extremely weak, and I'm not too sure if I did enough to repair the muscle damage, I just did what I could – I'm not a surgeon. I'm just general practice. I specialize in cold medication and sprained ankles." Clara said, watching Cristan. I gnawed my lower lip. Fuck. My right side was my dominant side. I just couldn't bring myself to be angry at Cris, though. I knew any logical person would be terrified of going near him, now, but my reaction was the exact opposite – I was in pain, I wanted my six foot five teddy bear.  
"Shit. I am so sorry, Lily." I heard him mutter, his breath leaving him in a ragged sigh. I opened my mouth to reply, but made a pained noise instead. The longer I was awake, the more I hurt. Clara was tugging the last few stitches through and I'd been a good little trooper until then, I hadn't been allowed to move, so I was able to force myself not to writhe in agony, and now that she was so close to done, my control was slipping. I think Cristan felt it, because the arm on my chest pressed down harder, keeping me immobile as the needle dug through the sensitive skin just below my breast. I yelped, but couldn't move – Clara was sitting on my legs, and Cris had my upper half pinned. I gritted my teeth and whimpered as she finished stitching up that part of the wound, why was the skin there so much more sensitive than the rest? I wondered, apparently out loud. "Not as much damage, your nerve endings are still intact." Clara said, pulling the needle and thread through, then moving up a bit. I screeched, then sank my teeth into Cristan's arm, it was the closest thing to my mouth. He made a pained noise, but didn't jerk away – its not like I could do too much damage unless I started shaking my head, he was wearing his coat and hoodie again. I just sat there, biting and whimpering, until she was done, listening to the conversation that she was having with Cristan just to get the fact that there was a needle in me off of my mind.  
"How are you sane?" Clara asked as she worked the last couple of stitches in, then started wrapping white gauze around my middle. I felt Cristan shrug. "I'm not sure, constant exposure to Lily, I guess. I didn't want to eat her – well, I did, but she was so brave that it impressed the Hunter side. It decided it wanted to keep her. And then I was around her so much that I started remembering who I was – what I was. I didn't have any memory of life before the infection until I met Lily." He said. I blinked, well, I'd assumed as much, but had never really thought about it.  
"Do you know if they're working on a cure or not?" Was the next part of the conversation that caught my attention – I was veering towards unconsciousness again, too much effort to stay awake. I heard Cristan's reply, though, before I fell asleep: "No, I don't know, and if they are – I don't want a cure."

* * *

"Why?" The woman asked me, and I shook my head, noticing that Lily's breathing had suddenly changed. She'd probably passed out again, though the woman didn't seem to be worried about how limp her patient suddenly was. I answered her, "Because if I'm cured, I won't be able to protect her – fine job I'm doing of it, though..." I trailed off, looking again at the scars on Lily's chest, what I could see from under my arm. I looked back up at the pregnant woman and smiled slightly, "Besides, I like what I am now. I wouldn't be able to handle being human again. Physically and mentally – my body looks human-ish, but it isn't, not anymore. A 'cure' would probably kill me." The woman blinked at this, then moved my arm so that she could wrap the white gauze around Lily's chest. I averted my gaze, only turning back to her when she spoke. "What do you mean, not human anymore?"  
"I did parkour before I was infected, but even though I knew my body better than most people, knew what it could do – I was _not _capable of what I can do now. I could not have jumped off a ten story building and landed with barely a scratch before I was infected. My bones and muscles are different, my body runs at a higher temperature than yours does – I don't know how high, higher than any human's body temperature should be." I raised my hand and stuck it in her face, "These aren't fingernails, they're my bones. I lost my fingernails when I began to change, my bones grew through the skin and into these claws. Same with my feet. My teeth aren't exactly human anymore, either. I have something close to fucking thermal vision in this side," I tapped the left side of my face, "Whereas you'd just be blind – and in pain. It doesn't hurt, even though I don't have an eyelid. I see even when I'm asleep."  
She sucked in a breath, then tucked the end of the gauze around, under Lily's arm, sitting back. "So, you really aren't human anymore?" I shook my head, "I don't think so – I don't see this as a virus, really. I see it as forced evolution... If your body can handle it. Of course, there are some failed examples – Boomers can't really be considered 'evolved', and the common zombie doesn't have the brainpower to take care of itself. Hormones and such went way out of whack with the Witches, so on, so forth. Jockeys, Spitters, Hunters, Smokers, Chargers – they take care of themselves." I smiled slightly, "And then you... So perfectly human as to be immune. Your child's immune, too, I don't smell infection. Guess its genetic."  
With that, I slid myself out from under Lily, rubbing my arm where she'd bitten in to it – my throat was going to be sore in the morning, as well. No sooner had I thought that when the woman's hand tentatively touched my arm. I glanced up at her, "What?"  
"Thank you for letting me know that – and would you like me to patch your neck up?" I paused, then nodded, "Why not," I sighed, sitting back down at the table – this time in a chair, so I wasn't way above the little doctor. She quickly cleaned and dressed the bite wound on my neck – thorough, professional, and really trying not to touch me that much, even though she was immune. I supposed I couldn't blame her, really, the very first time she'd seen me, I'd nearly ripped Lily apart. "I'm not usually like that," I murmured, and she jolted, having gotten sucked in to her work. "I don't know how long I've been out, but I got into a fight with another Hunter recently – he had a different strain. It fucked with me, I couldn't remember anything again, and I couldn't see right, not for a while. I didn't realize what was going on. I didn't mean to hurt her – I didn't, I really, really didn't. I wouldn't voluntarily hurt Lily for anything in this world. I've hurt enough people that I care for." I was spinning the ring on my left hand, an old habit, as I rambled on. She stepped back from me, done with my neck, and noticed the ring. "Are you and Lily married?" She asked me, and I shook my head. "No – my wife and child are dead." I felt my face twist with those words, still so hard to get out. "They had the misfortune of being near me when I was first infected." I turned my face away from the doctor, studying the table intently before I stood up, "Is it all right if I take Lily upstairs and put her to bed?" I asked.  
The doctor, who was suddenly looking at me with something between pity and horror, nodded. "Y-yes, uh, if you think it would make her more comfortable once you're up there – if you have an extra t-shirt, since you're so much larger than her, I'd put it on her, but nothing too restrictive." She said. I scooped the tiny woman up in my arms – how tall was Lily? Five feet, if that? So small, made me feel like a giant. The doctor had a point, even though I was thin and lanky, not very broad through the shoulders, my clothes would still be huge on Lily. I smiled to myself at the mental image of her trying to wear my pants, and then the smile fell off my face abruptly. Lily's jeans were still soaked in blood, and she wouldn't appreciate being forced to sleep in that condition – but she probably wouldn't like the idea of me undressing her further. I sighed, then, turning to the doctor, I offered her a small, apologetic smile. "Thank you for this." I said, then turned and headed up the stairs.

At least she was out cold, so I didn't have to worry about her throwing things at me. Again. I dug through my duffel bag, pulling out one of my larger t-shirts, a Children of Bodom band tee, and I quickly slid Lily into it, careful not to snag my claws on her bandages or skin. Luckily for me, the shirt came down almost to her knees. Did this girl have to shop in the kids department or something?  
I didn't know, and it wasn't something I'd ask, really. Making sure to keep the shirt in place, I peeled off her pants, grimacing at the wet sucking noise the blood soaked material made against her leg. I went back to the duffel bag, pulling out a pair of old sweatpants I'd thrown in there, pulling those up over Lily's legs, I pulled the drawstring tight so that when she stood up they wouldn't fall off. I stepped back, looking down at her, and I couldn't help it – I started laughing. Erika poked her head in, she'd been walking along the hallway, and stared at me like I was insane – I probably looked the part, I'd sunk to my knees, laughing like a damn Jockey, tears streaming out of my one eye. I saw her, tried to gasp out what I was laughing at, then, failing that, I grabbed the bottom hem of one of the sweatpant legs, holding it up. I had the pants pulled up nearly to Lily's ribs and there was still about a foot and a half of loose material hanging below her feet. Made sense, since I carried most of my height in my legs, but I had never realized just how _small _she was.  
It may have also been that I was at the point where I either start laughing, or I go insane again. I was worried for her.  
"You're laughing because you're freakishly tall?" Erika asked, walking slowly into the room – she'd helped me soak most of the blood out of the mattress with towels earlier, then flip the mattress over so that the clean side was facing up, so Lily was laying on clean blankets, thank God. I nodded, slowly calming down, "I – I'm sorry," I managed, "I just – she's so tiny... It just looked funny." I scooted forwards, pushing the pants leg up until the elastic was around Lily's ankle, instead of dangling below her feet. Erika snorted, "No, you're just crazy. Is she going to be all right?" Her tone changed within the space of a sentence from slightly sarcastic to worried. I nodded, "The doctor-woman thinks so, as long as she keeps her on antibiotics and we don't let her rip her stitches... But she's worried that her right side is always going to be weak."  
Erika nodded, then proceeded to help me get the unconscious girl the rest of the way onto the bed, even though I didn't really need the help. "Well, knowing Lily, she'll find some way to work her way back up to top strength. She seems stubborn like that." I snorted, "Stubborn is one way of putting it. I think she's insane, personally." I said, and Erika looked at me, "Why?" She asked, and I had to just give her one of those blank, are-you-serious stares. "She started a fight with a Hunter twice her size, unarmed, and you wonder why I think she's insane?" I drawled, and she shrugged, "I guess she figured you'd recognize her." I shook my head, "I had no idea who she was when I woke up, not until she'd pinned me."  
Erika made a soft 'huh' noise, then looked down at Lily, "Are you dead yet?" She asked, and I looked up at her, raising my single brow, "What?"  
"The shirt, it says 'are you dead yet?' Kinda morbid, considering." She said, and I looked down at Lily. Oh. It was that Children of Bodom shirt. Shit, she had a point, "It was just the loosest shirt I own – should I trade it out for one of the plain ones?" I asked, worried. She shook her head, "No, not now, and I think that it might even amuse Lily when she wakes up."  
I relaxed slightly, then grinned, "She does kind of have an odd sense of humor." I said, maneuvering Lily under the covers. Erika laughed, "That she does. Well, I'm going to head to bed." She said, stepping back for the door. "Goodnight, Eri." I said, using the nickname that Lily had bestowed on her and everyone else had taken up with. "'Night, Stan." She said, and I growled, "Cris, or Cristan, Erika." She snorted, then walked down the hall, out of sight.  
I shook my head at her, then slid into bed beside Lily, gingerly wrapping my arm over her hip, careful to avoid her ribs. I closed my eyes, but it took a while for sleep to come, and when it did, my dreams were bizarre, twisted nightmares.

* * *

**Author's Stuff Again:**

* * *

**Questions for you, dear readers~**

**1. Who is your favorite character? Why?**

**2. Who is your least favorite character? Why?**

**3. What's your favorite part of the story thusfar?**

**4. What do you think of the interactions between the characters? Are they believable?**

**5. What do you think should happen to Cristan now that he's been cross-infected?**

**6. What do you think should happen between Cristan and Lily?**

**7. Should there be any more 'intelligent' infected in the story, or is Cris by himself enough?**

**8. Should Trey find a dog and name it Whiskey? (Late night, already-in-bed conversation between myself and my fiance, in which he randomly popped out with, "Trey should have a dog named Whiskey.")**

**9. Do you have any music suggestions for this story?(I listen to music obsessively whenever I'm doing something, but I'm starting to get bored with what I have.)  
**


	10. Blue Eyes

**CHAPTER TEN**

**(Still don't own L4D.)**

**The blue-eyed Hunter's name is Jake, and he belongs to Stardragon91 - used here with permission - and is the main character of her story, "Left Alive." Go read. Now. Go go go go go go go.  
**

**My fiance helped me pick out the song lyric for this chapter.**

**Reviews make me squeal with glee. Speaking of - HOLY SHIT PEOPLE TEN CHAPTERS AND ALREADY TWENTY-ONE REVIEWS? Heeeeeee! Happy happy happy! Thank you all, especially those who answered the questions in chapter nine and helped me come up with ideas for this story~**

_**This chapter is from Cristan's point of view. Expect choppy and/or weird sentence structure. His thought process still isn't exactly human.**_

_**This chapter introduces Cristan's MP3 player. A list of the songs used will be at the bottom of this chapter.**_

_**oOo = Time skip.  
Line break = Change in POV. **_

**Warning: Chapter is essentially non-stop graphic violence. If you have a weak stomach - why the hell are you reading a L4D fic? - turn back now.  
**

_

* * *

"Their hearts don't beat desire, they pump violence and poison. Flesh opens up, blood's retreating, Death's embracing, all is ending."  
- Trivium: Shogun  


* * *

_

I woke up to sunlight hitting me full in the face. That's when I discovered that I was more light sensitive than I remembered ever being. Felt like someone had poured acid on my face.  
I hissed, recoiled, then crawled over to close the drapes over the poorly boarded up window. Crawl back in bed with Lily, rub my eyes. Look down at her. She was out cold, Clara had drugged her up to her eyeballs on morphine sometime during the middle of the night.  
I didn't like it. She was too still.  
Put my hand on her throat, feel for a pulse – there it is. She's alive. She's fine.  
Close my eyes for a second. Still hurt from the light.

Shit.

I thought I had just blinked. Now Lily's shirt was lifted almost to her chest and my teeth were pressing into the exposed, tender flesh of her stomach. Whiff of blood, skin. So hungry. Just one bite – then I'd be in... No!  
Wrench myself away, refuse to look at her, dig through the duffel bag. I need... I know where I'm going.  
Old, ripped up, bloodstained hoodie and pants. Lily threw these away. I dug them back out. Just in case. So many rips and tears. Where's the duct tape? Don't want to get snagged on anything.  
She smells so good. So hungry. Got to leave. Don't want to hurt the bravething.  
Wrap the tape around my arms and legs, mend the worst of the tears. Pull the hood low over my eyes. Shove a pack of cigarettes and the MP3 player in the hidden inner pocket. Lace up boots.  
Food... Foodfoodfood. No! Leave. Now. Go, gogogogogo.  
Out the door. Trey calling after me, wondering where I'm going and what's with the tape. Didn't think I was a typical Hunter, why tape?  
"I... Need to do something. I have to get out of here. If I'm not back in three, four days – search the prison."  
All I could force out. Hard to talk. Instinct screaming to rip his throat out. Haven't had to deal with this in a while. New strain, or inactivity? Don't know.  
Walk away, even though Trey's still talking. Got to go. Squint against the light, keep walking. Act human.  
Out of view range of the safe house. Good. Drop onto all fours. So much more comfortable. Easier.  
Run leap jump climb runrunrunrun. Tree to tree, over wrecked cars and fences. Startled cows, don't care about them. Not good food. Vault over one to clear the pasture. Thing sounds like a Big-Arm. Keep going, not much further now.  
Not a lot of Others around here, except for the dead – most with holes in their heads and missing limbs. My humans have been busy.  
Pause, sniff the air. Not the only Hunter. This could get interesting.

**oOo**

Outside the prison now. Stare up at the huge structure, reeks of Other. Overrun. I feel my body, nearly vibrating with eagerness.  
Light a cigarette, take out the little green thing. I remember this now. Put in the headphones, like earplugs. They block out most noise. Little skulls on the earpieces. Turn the thing on. Won't really be able to hear. More challenge – more fun. The stupid Others are too easy to kill, otherwise. The smarter ones – well, so much more interesting.  
Scroll through, pause, hit play. Frown. Sounds too soft. Then... there were words.

_When our masterpiece is complete, and the coroner's report is back in... it will read the cause of death – art._

I bared my teeth, something resembling a smile as the electronic screaming and scraping of the music kicked in, distorted vocals. I could enjoy this. Take a drag from the cigarette, slow and deep. Grind it against the concrete, exhale. Start walking. Everything's open. Guess they let everyone out. Makes my job easier. Unfortunately.  
Prison seems deserted, only a few Others – easily dispatched. Not worth my time. Keep going. Rely on eyes and nose and … I can feel the others. Feel the motions in the air against my skin. Through my fingertips. New, interesting skill.  
Round the corner into the dining hall. Oh. There they are. Hundreds of Others, swaying and moaning in their filth. Smile, snarl. This is going to be so much fun.  
Make sure the headphones run under my hoodie, won't get snagged on anything that way. Drop to a crouch, tense to spring into the shambling, mindless, diseased throng. Scream in challenge.  
Recognition on their faces, jaws opening, slavering. Faintly hear gibbering rage. Then they move.  
In a sea of writhing, biting bodies. In a sea of violence. Lash out with claws and teeth, rip through the bodies like a hot knife through butter. I feel stronger. Alive.  
Lock my jaws around the jugular, rewarded with a hot spray of bitter, diseased blood in my face. Dripping from my hood and hair. Spin, kick. Knock their feet out from under them. Run. Leap, rebound off the wall, land on one with enough force to splatter his brains on the concrete. Rear up, dig claws through the thigh of the nearest Other, open the artery there. I'm already red from top to toe and they _keep coming_.

_Feel the cold death that rides along your spine..._

I'm laughing now, I can feel it. I'm laughing around a mouthful of blood and thicker things, my clothes are heavy with gore, and I'm high as a fucking kite on adrenaline. Tear the ribcage open, intestines spill to the floor in a steaming heap. The Others are turning on their injured brothers.  
Something hits me from behind. Whirl. Rip most of the thing's face off. Grinning skull and tatters of flesh. I hiss, driving my claws through the soft flesh under the jaw, rip out the tongue. The fog swallows me.

Shred, bite, kill killkillkillkillkill_killkillkill!_ Vile flesh, vile diseased things. Taste of carrion and disease. Taste I'm used to. Room's almost empty. They're killing eachother. I'm killing them. Writhing limbs and a sea of blood. The floor is so slick, hard to keep balance. Orgy of violence, of death.

_They're dying of rabies, eating their babies – it fills up their days._

More coming from the hallways. Scream in joy, in challenge, in sheer bloodlust. I don't even know if I'm hurt. Too high to care. The coppery tang of blood is embedded in my nose, the deeper stench of exposed, perforated intestines and diseased shit. No one uninfected would be able to stand it.  
I revel in it. I caused this.  
Jump straight up, cling to the light fixtures and watch the Others destroy themselves. More keep coming. The scent of blood is driving them wild, despite the fact that it's their own blood. Tense to leap back into the fray, launch forward, claws extended, and – jerked out of the air. Something wrapped around me. Disgusting, slimy thing. One of the coughing ones.  
I snarl and writhe, the tentacle-like thing just wrapping tighter until my body protests. Pulling me back up towards the ceiling. I twist my head around and bite down on the appendage, snapping it – rewarded with a burst of smoke, and foul, oily tasting blood in my mouth.  
Coils fall off of me, already targeted the phosphorescently glowing haze up in the rafters. Spring, climb after the retreating Other. Pin him against the wall, balanced precariously on a three inch thick metal beam. He shoves, we tilt off balance, and I slam my thumb-claw deep through where his eye would be, deep through a tumor and into his diseased brain. The struggles stop halfway to the floor, and we both land. Me in a crouch, and the unfortunate Other on his head, which exploded into a cloud of smoke. I sneer.

_Noises noises people make noises people make noises when they're sick._

I stood. Room's empty. Don't see any more Others, save the dead and dying. Pull one of the earbuds out and listen. Crying.  
I shiver. Crier. Where? No no no... Difficult. Challenge. My body hums with anticipation.  
Wander the hallways. Crying's getting louder. Ah. There she is.  
I crouch, easing ever so much closer, watch her. Stop, think. Climb up on top of a bookcase, quiet now, quiet. Shh. Cannot upset the Crier. Put the headphones back in. Don't need to hear. Just need to see and feel. Need to get behind her. Like the uninfected fools with their shotguns – but I have a better idea.  
Barely breathing now. Every movement calculated. This is suicide. No. Nonono. Shut up. Can do this.  
Not even six inches from her now. Stop breathing. Hope she doesn't hear my heart. Or feel me. She's stopped shaking. Can't hear her crying over the music now. Now! Now now now now!  
I lunge, wrapping my hands around the Crier's face, and dig my claws in with as much force as I can, rewarded with a satisfying popping sensation. Bitch is blind, now. I hear her screaming over my music. Recoil, quickly, quickly. Miss the foot-long claws by barely an inch, dance backwards and hold perfectly still. She's windmilling around, trying to find me. If I'm quiet, she'll be lost.  
Blood pouring down her face, making me hungry. Screaming. Can't lose control on this one. Has to be – perfect.  
Duck down, run under the flailing arms and slice along her stomach, leap back again, not fast enough. Crier's claws drag along my back. Arc in painpainpain, scream and roll away. Force myself to my feet again. Don't have long to do this. Launch forwards again, dive between her legs, rip open the femoral artery, twist – ignore the searing fire in my back – and wrench a flailing arm, slit the wrist, cut the tendon. She's down one weapon. Bleeding. Now I just have to wait for her to die.

_Take the bitch apart at the seams..._

Run around behind her again, slice just behind the knee. Leg crumples. Good to know that Criers can be hamstrung. Fuck! She's on me! Can't get a good angle, she's opening shallow cuts but can't really do the damage she's capable of with one hand and a bad angle. I writhe, trying to get away. Skin's burning from a dozen different cuts and gashes. Reach up and slice across her ruined eyes again. Scream and recoil. Drag myself away. She's trying to follow. Can't stand up. Weaker now. How long does it take for one of these things to bleed out?  
I watch as she drags herself to me, slumping into a quivering, bleeding, crying mess not two feet from my shoes. Still conscious, but too weak to attack. I kneel, grabbing her head. Those dagger-like fingers come up again, and I jerk sharply. Loud cracking noise, and the claws fall again.  
Slump down, panting. Hope against hope that there's nothing else like her here. Close my eyes for a second, then drag myself back on top of the bookshelf. The stupid Others can't reach me here. Peel off the tattered hoodie and lick the wounds I can reach. I need to rest. Need to... sleep.

**oOo**

I awoke to the feeling of being watched. Peer over the side of the shelf. Snarl in disbelief. Four of them. Four Hunters. All staring up at me with red teeth bared. Pull myself into a crouch, body screaming in protest.

_Can you feel this? I'm dying to feel this._

The first one surged forward, a smallish female. Not much bigger than Lily. Easily dispatched. Then the remaining three converged.  
Screaming confusion. Claws and teeth everywhere. Bleeding from a dozen new wounds. Coming here wasn't my brightest idea. I downed one, ripped out his throat, and whirled to meet the teeth and claws of the others. Neither were close to my height, but few were – they made up for it with teamwork. Claws slammed into my leg, rending muscle. Screamsnarl. Lash out and rip a gaping wound down his stomach. Dirty red hoodie stained darker with blood. Blue hoodie on my back. Slam backwards into a wall. Red one's back, somehow still moving with his intestines showing for the world to see. Can't go for the eyes - neither had any. Claws flashing dangerously close to my remaining eye. Snatch my head back. Slam into the wall again. Blue hoodie slid off my back, dazed. Attack red hoodie again, clawing and biting and hissing. I'm weaker than them. They were smart. Waited for me to tangle with the Crier before they attacked.  
Blue hoodie's claws in my ribs, dragging through my skin. Howl in pain, elbow him in the side of the head. Knock him back again. Whirl to deal with him when red hoodie's teeth sink into the back of my leg. How is he still _alive?_ How am I still breathing?  
Under the two now. Blue hoodie's teeth close on my throat and I can't move. Other one's ripping at my body. Weight's suddenly gone, leaving just a searing, burning sensation in my neck. Grab my throat. Just a few scratches. What the Hell?

Red hoodie's finally showing weakness, he's shredded my leg, but he's getting weak. Lunge and sink my teeth into his neck. Catched a pained yowl from blue hoodie, cut off suddenly. I rolled away from the corpse, struggling up into a crouching position, left leg doesn't want to cooperate. Raise my head. Try to figure out where blue hoodie went.  
He's dead, throat and belly ripped out. I didn't do that. Motion out of the corner of my eye. Whirl, regret it as the room tips. There's _another _Hunter_._

_It itches, it seethes, it festers and breeds – my heroes are dead, they died in my head. Thin out the herd, squeeze out the pain, something inside me has opened up again..._

I can't fight another one. I just... I can't. I'm going to be doing good to get back to the safe house before I bleed out. I probably won't make it out of the prison. My leg's shaking, damaged nerves and muscles.  
This Hunter, while shorter than me... Probably would have wiped the floor with me even if I was at perfect health. I was thin, sinewy. I relied on stealth. He easily had at least a thirty pound advantage, or maybe it was because he was more compact. We could be about the same weight. Either way... I wasn't winning this one. I would probably have tried to kill him at full health regardless just for his clothes, except that the black hoodie's sleeves were completely gone. I didn't like that, but the hood had a row of studs around the edge, something I'd never seen before, and it was interesting. I wanted that hoodie. Blood loss was making me stupid.  
Under the hood, I saw some of the strangest eyes I'd ever seen. I thought the sclera were black, but the eyes were a vibrant, pale blue. _Another new strain?_ All the eyes I'd seen on the Others so far were dirty, bloodshot yellow, like mine. A frisson of fear went up my spine. I'd just dealt with one strain, don't let me catch another.  
He crept closer, and I saw the scars, five of them down the right side of his face, lending an even meaner look to him, another set looked like gills on the opposite side of his neck. I snarled as he got close, shying away as best as I could. Hard to breathe now. Why had he saved me? Easy meal?  
He matched my movements, and then lashed out, pinning me to the floor by the back of the neck. I flailed, but got nowhere. Much more powerful than me. I hissed, and he snarled in response, teeth close to my face. No, the whites of his eyes weren't black. They were an extremely dark red. Skin grayer than mine.  
The Hunter looked me over, then released me with a soft, almost disgusted noise.  
I scuttled away from him as quickly as I could. Not dead? Why? Why why why? Just watching me now. Why? Bored? No. Nononono. Get away. Harder to think. Can't think. Too hurt. Run away. Run run run NOW!

Not following me. Busted grating over a vent – there! Drag myself into the vents. Wedge into a corner. May be able to rest enough to get back to Lily. Can't... Stay... Awake.

**oOo**

Woke up to find a pair of blue eyes staring at me from a few feet away. How had he wedged himself into the vents? I snarled. So weak, I didn't know if I'd been asleep for minutes or days. So much pain. He edged closer again, hissing softly. I raised my head up, staring at him. "Any closer, and I'll rip those pretty blue eyes out." I murmured. He stopped dead. I didn't know if it was because he understood me, or if it was just the oddity of a speaking Other.  
He melted back into the shadows. I was going to have to do something about him. A faint buzzing noise around my neck. The little music player's battery still hadn't died? I shut it off, and jammed the headphones in my pocket, edging down the cramped vent.  
Stagger around the halls. Know I'm being watched. Where where where? There! Shadow at the end of the hall. Gone now. Found the hospital area of the prison. Surprisingly, it wasn't that damaged. Strip off the hoodie and what's left of the jeans.  
Spend the next while clumsily stitching my body back together. Couldn't do much about my leg. Mummify it and hope it heals. Dropped needles everywhere. Look like Frankenstein's monster. Don't quite have the fine motor skills required for anything other than haphazard stitches. Can barely hold the needle with my claws.  
Unaware of being watched until something brushed against my leg. Alarm! Lash out with a snarl, fall back off the chair I was sitting on. The other Hunter sitting there, glaring at me, blood seeping down his arm where I'd clawed his shoulder. Freeze, stare at eachother. Still didn't have a hope in Hell against him.  
On top of me! Flail! Pinned! Teeth at my throat! Diediediedie. Why am I not dead? Scream in frustration. Cannot budge him. Claws digging into the already ravaged skin on my sides. Arch up in pain. Hunter seems to enjoy that. Fucker. Finally go limp in surrender. Plot revenge.  
Hunter crawls off of me with a final, warning stab of claws. I growl at him, going back to patching myself up. I decided to try something. "May want to get out of here, Blue-Eyes. You'll get shot." I said, concentrating on bandaging up my arm. "Humans are coming here, and they all know how to shoot. And I'll help them if you're still here. Don't know why you're here." I coughed, tasting blood. Not good. "My humans. Kill you if you touch them. There's plenty of prey out here, more than what's in this prison. Nothing but Others here."  
He was staring at me, lips pulled back in a silent snarl. Doubt that any of that got through. Stand up, stagger, nearly fall on him. He moved, hissing at me. I grabbed an IV stand as a cane and snarled, pulling the tattered, gory remains of my clothing back on. Had to get back to Lily. Would this thing even let me leave?

Only one way to find out.

**oOo**

Sullen. Leaving had not worked out so well. Not because of the Hunter. Because I couldn't walk very far.  
Needed to get the bodies out of the prison. Burn them. Couldn't do it now. Curled up in a closet, waiting to heal enough that I could actually move. The other Hunter – no idea where he was. He came and went, and it drove me insane that I didn't have enough strength to get rid of him.  
Delusional. Mumbling to myself. Not caring that the Hunter's sitting right by me, staring at me as if I've lost my mind. Need to heal. Then I'll kill him. Or chase him off. Like Hell.

**oOo**

Don't know how much later. Been light outside a few times. I can hobble around now. Hunters heal fast. Stench is overwhelming.  
Haul the bodies outside. There's a pile of downed brush in the corner of the prison yard. Gasoline in the mechanic shop. Takes me two, maybe three days before I've piled all the bodies up. The Hunter always watching me.

Standing beside the gasoline-soaked pile of bodies and underbrush, lit cigarette in my hand. I kneel, then touch the lit zippo to a dripping branch, and the liquid goes up with an eyebrow-singeing whoosh.  
Dance back twenty, thirty feet. Running water means that I've got at least three garden hoses to rely on if the wind starts up. Pressure against my legs.  
Look down to see the Hunter beside me. Resist the urge to kick him away. My humans will see the fire... And they'll come, with guns. And we can get rid of this Hunter.

Hopefully.

* * *

**Author's Notes, again.  


* * *

**

**SONGS:**

_"When our masterpiece is complete, and the coronor's report is back in... it will read the cause of death - art."_**  
God Module - ART  
**([2010] The Magic In My Heart Is Dead)

_"Feel the cold death that rides along your spine."_**  
Acid Bath - Bleed Me An Ocean  
**([1996] Paegan Terrorism Tactics)

_"They're dying of rabies, eating their babies - it fills up their days."_**  
Acid Bath - Tranquilized  
**([1994] When The Kite String Pops)

_"Noises noises people make noises people make noises when they're sick."_**  
Slipknot - Disasterpiece  
**([2001] Iowa)  
(No punctuation in this one because of how damn fast he says it. Enter giant run on sentence.)

_"Take the bitch apart at the seams."_**  
Acid Bath - Jezebel  
**([1993] Hymns Of The Needle Freaks {demo})

_"Can you feel this? I'm dying to feel this."_**  
Slipknot - The Blister Exists  
**([2005] Vol. 3: The Subliminal Verses)

_"It itches, it seethes, it festers and breeds – my heroes are dead, they died in my head. Thin out the herd, squeeze out the pain, something inside me has opened up again..."_**  
Slipknot - Diluted  
**([1999] Slipknot)  
(Jake's song. 8D)

**Thank all of y'all for answering the questions in the last chapter. I'll probably have some new ones for you soon. :3**


	11. Something Like A Rescue

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**(Still don't own L4D. If I did, the Tanks would wear top hats and bunny slippers. Or something equally stupid, because those things honestly make me laugh. Except when they kill me. Then I start cussing.)**

**Alrighty, here's my round of excuses: Writer's block, art block, neighbor's whose wifi I leeched moved, I got a massive upper respiratory infection, computer had to be reformatted like twelve times, the power cord went out and we had to buy a new one, AND we went to Tennessee for a month, sans all my writing stuff. I also haven't played Left 4 Dead since like... March.**

**Correction for the last chapter. The lyric "take the bitch apart at the seams" is actually from the song Finger Paintings Of The Insane, not Jezebel. Same artist and album, though.**

**Jake's gonna be in this one for a bit, too. Like noted, he belongs to Stardragon91 and you need to go read her story Left Alive. Makes my story look like shit, I tell ya.**

**Quick question for the readers, again: I listen to everything except rap, country, gospel and polka. Any music suggestions?**

**Also, character POV changes will now be marked by -(Character)- … If FFNet doesn't have a problem with that.  
**

* * *

"Tainted flesh, polluted soul, through a mirror I behold. Throw a punch, shards bleed on the floor - tearing me apart but I don't care anymore. Should I regret or ask myself, 'Are you dead yet?' "_  
- Children Of Bodom: Are You Dead Yet?  
_

* * *

**-(Trey)-  
**We'd been preparing for two damn days when Dan came running into the room, startling the barely ambulatory Lily near out her skin. "Hey!" He shouted, despite the close quarters, "The prison! Its burning! I think your pet freak did something – when are we going out there?"  
Lily sucked in a breath to get all offended about the 'pet freak' comment when the rest of it sunk in, "Fire?" She shrieked, lurching ill-advisedly off the couch towards the window – I caught her before she hit the floor, gasping as her stitches pulled, some might'a ripped. "Lily-girl, chill. We're goin' out there, beb, that's why we've been preparin'."  
She nodded, still panting for breath, sagging against me – God, she barely weighed a thing – then she looked up at me, "Who all's going?" She asked, allowing me to settle her back on the couch, she'd only been awake a few hours and had raised Hell until I carried her downstairs to join in on Operation Rescue Crazy Hoodie Dude. "Just me and Danny-boy. You girls are stayin' here."  
Erika made a noise of protest, and I waved my hand before she could start talking, "Eri, you and Nin' are two of the best shooters we got, Lily-girl's hurt, Clara's pregnant, and Alison, though a very good shot with a pistol, is still just a kid – I'd rather have you and Nin' protectin' everyone here and holdin' down the fort, I wouldn't trust anyone else, 'cept Cris, with y'all's lives. 'Sides, you got everything here 'cept maybe a heat-seekin' rocket launcher. Be happy."  
She huffed, then settled back down on the couch next to Lily, "Well, why are you standing here running your mouth? Go, dammit." She said, waving towards the door. I opened my mouth and she cut me off with a simple, "Pish-posh," and another, more violent gesture towards the door.  
I shut my mouth, grabbed my rifle and gestured to Dan, "C'mon, man," I said, and headed out the door. My mama always taught me that listening to women kept you from sleeping on the couch or the back porch, and I'm sure Erika would have put a bug in Nin's ear.

We'd driven the mile and a half to the prison, and now we had the car parked about the length of a football field away from the fire – a massive bonfire-type-deal, thankfully, the prison itself wasn't on fire yet. I wondered why Cris had to go and set a fire this big... and then I stepped out the car, only to be smacked in the face with the smell of burning bodies, a horrible, greasy, sickly smell. We'd burned a few zombies before I'd met up with Eri and them. My old group, all dead now, were all about 'sanitizing the area'. Buncha nerds, really, didn't help at all to burn one zombie when there were a thousand more corpses layin' around, but that's how I knew what the smell was. It was awful. Dan had started gagging as soon as he stepped out of the car, and tears were streaming down both of our faces from the smell.  
Let me tell you – there's a vast difference between rotting flesh and _burning _rotting flesh.  
I shook my head, then started towards the fire. There was a familiar lump on the ground a respectable distance away from the flames. Crazy-ass Cris. I whistled and his head snapped towards me, lips pulled back, then the snarl spread into a smile and he waved an arm, "Trey!" He called with a laugh that quickly degenerated into a coughing fit. I ran up to him as he struggled to his feet, using what looked like an IV stand as a cane. "Man, what happened to you, Cris?" I asked, hands automatically going out to steady him as he wavered on his feet. I suddenly found myself supporting all of his weight as he collapsed on me. My knees buckled, and I found myself kneeling on the ground with Cristan practically in my lap. Uncomfortable's a damn understatement.  
"Morphine, Trey-baby." He was laughing again, and I blinked. Trey-_what? _Yeah. He was fucking high. He was also shaking like a leaf. "Dan, a little help?" I asked, and Dan helped me work Cris into a standing position again, though he was still leaning heavily on me, chin resting on my shoulder. "Blue helped me, you know, a bit. He helped clean this place out. Just watch out for Blue. He'll eat your _fucking face._" He hissed the last words, then made an odd keening noise. "Oh, but damn I hurt. Blue made sure I didn't die, but Blue's bitchy. He doesn't understand. He likes it here. I have to get rid of him. Just be careful. I think Blue's new. New... thing. Blue eyes. Pretty blue eyes. Ugly motherfucker. Ugly, ugly-ugly-ugly. He's fast, bigger than me. Not taller. Bigger. He'll eat you. Shoot him if I don't chase him off – no, don't shoot him... Can't shoot him, he'll get angry. Angry... angry-angry-angry-angry."  
Good God. He was babbling like crazy. Who the fuck was Blue? I stared at Dan, completely bewildered. "What is he talking about?" Dan asked me, and I shrugged, "Fuck if I know. Sounds like he's done nearly got himself kilt and he's delusional."  
"No!" Cristan shrieked in my ear, making me jump. "Not crazy! Blue's real! He's new... strain. Hoodie... Hunter. Don't know where he is, just watch out. No other Others. Just Blue and I. Just us. Blue fed me. Brought me a deer, did you know that? He didn't kill me. Saved me from a pack of Hunters..." Cristan trailed off, then screamed, that loud, metallic Hunter threat scream. If that wasn't bad enough, it was answered – from behind us. Dan spun around and pointed his gun at the new Hunter as I awkwardly twisted, raising my pistol as well. Cristan was snarling like a mad thing now, pulling away from me and falling into an off-balance crouch. He crab-walked up to the new Hunter, and I caught a blue gleam from under the hood. This was Blue? Well, shit. He _was_ bigger than Cristan, and looked a good deal meaner.  
The new Hunter screamed and jerked his head towards us, Cris answering in a low growl – his back actually arched just like a pissed-off cat's. 'Blue' snarled, then shoved Cris bodily out of the way, sending Cris tumbling ass-over-elbow to the side. Dan squeezed off two shots as the new Hunter lunged, catching it high in the right shoulder before, of all things, Cris pounced him, snarling in his face. "Don't. Shoot. Blue." Dan, flabbergasted, just stared at him before Cris darted back towards the other Hunter, screaming in its face. I shook my head, I was just standing there like a dumb ass! I hauled Dan back to his feet and watched as Cris and the Hunter squabbled – it was obvious that Cris was hurt now, too. He was favoring one leg and he was already out of breath, and I'm sure that being high as a motherfucking kite off of morphine didn't help matters any. 

**-(Cristan)**-  
Lunge, scream at Blue. He's so soft and blurry looking. God, shouldn't have had the painkillers. Needed them, but not the side effects. Got to convince him to leave. Blue was too much of a help to me to kill. Can't let trigger happy Dan kill him. Shit!  
Roll as Blue pounces, searing pain in my leg. Painpainpainpain. Think, Cris, think! Screaming, clawing, biting, fight for dominance. Fight for the humans. Can't let Blue eat them. Bad, badbadbad. God, damn it, think!  
Something smooth under my hand. A rock! Idea!  
Wait. Waitwaitwait. Have to wait for him to – _now! _  
Swing the rock. Satisfying thunk of stone against skull. Blue on top of me. Not moving. Shove him off. Regroup. Humans.  
Have to think like a human. Can't let the humans down. Got to save the... humans. Think, Cris, think!  
Fog's clearing a bit. There's Trey and Dan, all six of them. Oh, there's only two. That's the morphine. Probably the injuries too. Can zombies die of blood loss? Obviously.  
I shook my head, clearing the fog. Had to – oh, yeah, that's right.  
"Dan, Trey." I muttered, then tried again with better results. They were both looking at me now. "Can we put him in the trunk?"  
You'd think I'd grown a few extra heads, the way they were looking at me. Still woozy and relatively happy from all the chemicals that my body, unfortunately, was burning through at an alarming rate – I was starting to hurt again, or, rather, I was starting to care about the fact that I hurt again – I just tilted my head at them and continued. "I don't want to kill him, he helped me too much. He's out cold. Just throw him in the trunk and drop him about twenty miles from here. If you want... I think I remember how to drive."

Somehow, I'd talked them into it – I don't really remember how – but here we were, driving off towards somewhere called Statesboro, and there was an unconscious, rabid, blue-eyed Hunter in the trunk. I was sprawled out across the back seat, eyes closed, listening for any signs of life from the trunk and trying to ignore how the car ride was making my head spin. My leg and various other wounds were starting to throb again, and I whimpered softly, shifting. Dan turned around in his seat to look at me, "You alright, Cristan?" I could smell the fear on him, the distaste. He thought that I should be put down like any other Infected. Can't blame him really, but he should try not to smell so much like food.  
I nodded, "Morphine's wearing off. I can think somewhere close to human again, though..." I frowned. That hadn't come out right. Maybe I wasn't close to being able to speak correctly yet. "Dan," I murmured after he'd been silent for a few minutes. "Yeah?" He turned back around. "How do humans survive this?" I gestured out the car window at the world in general. "I mean, I can do it because I'm one of the monsters, but how do you people survive knowing that you've gone from the top of the food chain to the bottom within a span of weeks?"  
He shrugged. "Determination, the will to survive. A lot of people I knew were actually immune, but they didn't have that drive, that overwhelming need to survive that people like your Lily, Trey here, me and the others have. They just closed their eyes and hoped that the monsters under the bed weren't real for them, even if they were for everyone else."  
I heard the _click-whoomp_ of Trey's Zippo and briefly smelled the smoke before he opened the window, then he spoke, "Yeah, same here. I seen a lot of people die 'cause they thought they could talk sense into the Infected – 'cause the Infected were people they once knew." He sighed. I gritted my teeth. "Yeah. I've been there." Trey glanced back at me in the rearview mirror. "What do you mean?"  
"Nothing, don't want to talk about it." I turned my face into the seat, spinning the ring on my left hand out of what I remembered to be an old nervous habit.  
Conversation eventually dwindled – Dan and Trey talking guns, then an easy silence, and I drifted to sleep. 

**-(Dan)-**  
I guess we were about ten miles out from Statesboro when there was an almighty thump and a scream from the trunk, I whirled around just as Trey hit the brakes and Cristan sat up so quickly that he beaned his head against the roof of the car. "Stop the fucking car!" The Hunter screamed, apparently not realizing that Trey was already working on that. There was another scream and thump from the trunk, then a tearing, rending noise. "Fuck, he's trying to come through the seats – Trey, pop the trunk!" I yelled over Cristan's high, metallic growl – he was trying to shove back against the seats, some sort of attempt to keep the other Hunter in the trunk.  
Trey reached down and yanked the trunk lever just as Cristan kicked the backseat and screamed again. There was an answering scream, then the blue-eyed Hunter apparently got the idea that the trunk was open and practically flew out of the thing, immediately going for the window.  
Glass shattered and Cristan made the most god-awful noise I had ever heard before he screamed, "Drive!" and slammed his head backwards, catching the broken glass but also driving the Hunter's arm down on it. I was turned around backwards in the seat by this point, trying to get a clean shot at the bulky Hunter outside the car when Trey slammed his foot down on the gas – the car swerved for a second, tires struggling for traction in loose gravel, then we took off and Cris screamed again, but this time it sounded like pain.  
He clamped his hand down on his neck, one eye wide and staring off in to space, his breathing odd and shuddery. "Hunter?" I said, wary of him flipping out again like he had the first night we'd come to their safe house. Cristan swallowed, then pressed his hand down harder – blood welled between his fingers, thick and dark. "Blue... clawed – fuck, ow. He clawed my neck, tried to keep hold of me and got jerked off by the car moving, I think." He leaned his head against the seat, closing his eyes.  
I sighed, not wanting to really get too close to him, but I knew that if something happened to this particular Infected, the group he traveled with would probably fall apart. So, I crawled over the seat and situated myself half on the backseat, half in the floorboard before pulling off my shirt and folding it up into a square. "Cris," I said, reaching out and attempting to lift up his hand. He snarled at me and swiped half-heartedly with the other hand. I reared back, then, after a brief wrestling match, I got his hand out of the way and pressed the shirt down on his neck, keeping pressure over the wound – four deep gash marks starting at his collar bone and ending just below his ear. "Trey, get us back to the safe house so that Clara can stitch this bastard up – if he doesn't bleed out first."

* * *

**P.S. - Dear spellcheck – since when is 'hoodie' not a word?**

**P.P.S. - A big thank you to every one who submitted an OC for this story, I'm still going through and deciding which ones to use, and I may open up Infected OC submissions at a later date.**

**P.P.P.S. - Erika, in real life, really does say 'pish-posh'. It amused the everlovin' Hell out of me the first time I heard it. Ilu Eriwifey. *heart*  
**


	12. Prison Bound

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

**(Still don't own L4D.)**

**FFNET's formatting is the most god-awful thing I have ever had to deal with. I've spent the last 20 minutes fixing everything it broke in this chapter and I'm still not sure I've succeeded.  
**

**We got a mothafuckin' 360. Finally.  
I hope to get L4D2 at some point later this week or next week (added this note on July 31st) and play the hell out of versus with my fiance. L4D2 on the PC, offline, has zilch in the way of multiplayer, even with controller and splitscreen scripts/config edits. And I've been stuck with offline PC L4D2 for the past year or so.  
So, until then, Gears of War 2, ODST, Borderlands and Bioshock 2 will be happily nomming away on my brain cells. **

**And then I hope to get internet soon so that I can play online multiplayer.**

**Also, fun fact: I learned that 'plunked,' 'plonked,' and 'jounced' are actually words and not redneckisms today.**

**In my L4D world, you can fight off the Special Infected if you're fast and/or lucky enough. I think that the inability to fight them off is a major flaw in the game. I mean, would it be so bad to have to rapidly hit a button or something? Dx**

**Also, feel free to ask for translations of Trey-speak. It makes sense to me, at least. I grew up with it.**

**Http : / / necrophagy . Deviantart . Com / gallery / 31850008**

**TAKE OUT THE SPACES. You'll get:**  
**1. A half-shirtless, fanservice, picture of Cristan that I spent sixteen hours on,**  
**2. A picture of the new character, and**  
**3. A CHIBI TREY.**

**ALSO! Check out my profile. There's a little prequel thing up that I wrote, called The Gears Of Evolution. Cristan's last day as a human. I'm quite proud of the mutation scene. 8D**

**Virus Of Humanity, if this chapter is way too short for you, I will cry. I really, really will. ):  
8,918 words and nine pages in Open Office, Times New Roman, font size ten.  
**

**LEGEND:  
-(Character Name)- = Change in Point Of View.  
oOo = Time skip.  
**_  
_

* * *

_"Dementia creeping closer, but what difference does it make? Sometimes the best way up is down, and for some moments in life there are no words."  
__- The Kovenant: Keepers Of The Garden  
_

* * *

**-(Clara)-  
**I was trying very, very hard to keep my mind off of Lily right now. I didn't know what to do for her right now, so I was occupying myself with the rest of the group.  
"Who set and splint your leg, Ali?" I asked the girl as I went over the break. The splint needed to be turned into a real cast, and I was pleasantly surprised to find the supplies I needed stockpiled in the safe house. The bone, while better off than it would have been if it wasn't treated, wasn't very cleanly set.  
"Mister Cris straightened it back out, and Ninny bandaged it." Ali replied, and I nodded. I figured Cristan would have at least a little bit of knowledge over broken bones, considering his past parkour career. I'm sure he'd had his fair share of breaks. "Well, I'm going to put a proper cast on it now, just to keep it steady, all right?" I felt along the break again and frowned. This leg was always going to be a bit lame. It was too late to re-break it and set it properly.

I had just finished with the cast when there was banging on the safe house door. Erika and Nina automatically went for their guns. Nina lifted the bar from the door, then cracked it open, swore, and threw the door wide. "Get in here, now! What's wrong with him?" She barked as Trey and Dan hauled Cristan in... Or what I assumed to be Cristan. It looked like they were holding a limp, bloody scarecrow. "Days of fighting thousands of zombies and, according to him, five Hunters, a Smoker and a Witch." Dan said, not looking up from where he had what must have been his shirt pressed against Cristan's neck.  
"Get him in the kitchen, now!" I took over, pushing Nina and Erika out of the way and all but dragging the three of them into the kitchen. "Nina, take the tablecloth – don't want any food residue getting in his wounds. Erika, I need sutures and disinfectant. Gauze, too. Now!" They hurried to comply, and as soon as they had him laid out on the table, I was shouting orders again – first thing to go was Cristan's clothes, I had to see just how badly he was hurt, then I had to curse at the haphazard stitching that held him together. I raked my hands through my hair, then went to the sink and scrubbed them.  
"Let me see his neck, Dan." I said once I'd made my way back to the table. "I'm afraid to let go, Clara, he's pouring like a sieve." Dan replied, but he did pull the shirt away from the wound, which immediately started pouring again. I was going to have to work fast.  
I'd thought Cristan was unconscious, but as soon as I applied the disinfectant to the wound, he arched up and screamed, automatically lashing out against the pain – I felt his claws gouge through my upper arm and I yelped, nearly dropping the bottle of antiseptic. "Hold him!" I said, Dan and Trey immediately moving in to pin his arms down. Trey leaned down far enough to start murmuring to Cristan, trying to calm him down. It only took a second for the Hunter to stop resisting and go limp again, though I don't know if this was due to Trey's words or the bloodloss.  
I finished cleaning the wounds and then, after making sure nothing major was ruptured – his jugular vein had been missed by scant centimeters – I started stitching. He hissed softly and started to jerk his head away, but Nina stepped in to grab either side of his head and hold him still.  
Working quickly, I had the worst of it stitched up before long. I moved on to the shallower parts of the cuts and finished the sutures before I went to work on the rest of his body. He'd done a very poor job stitching himself back together and I wound up having to re-do every last bit of it, cutting deeply into our medical supplies to do so.

It was some six hours later when I finally was able to step back and look at my finished handiwork – an unconscious Hunter, more stitched up than Frankenstein's monster, wearing nothing but a dishcloth draped over his hips. But, damn it, he would live. I was a little worried about his leg, it looked like he'd been attacked by a rabid dog, teeth and claw marks from his groin down past his knee. I was hoping he'd heal well enough to not have a limp, though I doubted it. Some gashes were also obviously from a Witch, and he had bruising around his body consistent with being snatched up in the air by a Smoker.  
In general, he was going to be sore when he woke up, and not just from sleeping on a hard wood table.  
I rubbed my arm – I had paused once I'd made sure he wasn't going to bleed out on me and bandaged myself up – as I regarded him. Well, if he was unconscious...

**-(Cristan)-**  
I woke up feeling like I'd been put through a meat grinder and there was the oddest sensation of something cold pressed to my chest. "Ngh." Somehow, that was supposed to translate to 'what the fuck happened?', but I just wasn't that eloquent yet.  
"It's just me, Cristan. I'm listening to your breathing. Can you inhale for me?" Clara's soft, wary voice. She was still scared of me. I remembered her, frantic, patching me up – but she was still scared. I watched her through the red haze that was the remains of my left eye – I still hadn't opened the other one – as I sucked in a breath, "All right, hold." She said, then told me a second later to exhale slowly. I did, then shivered, realizing that I was naked, again. I could feel something over my lap, but it definitely wasn't enough to qualify as clothing.  
Doctorthing undressed me. Always wake up naked. Do not like.  
Think, Cristan. You're doing so well. Whole sentences and everything. Don't let that shit start again.  
"C-clara." My voice cracked, so thirsty. Water... waterwaterwater. No! Think! "Yes, Cristan?" She asked, and I swallowed before speaking again, "Water... And Lily. Where's Lily?" I asked her, as I finally opened my eye. I saw something odd flicker across her face before she turned away to get me a glass of water – I was apparently on the kitchen table. "Clara," I started, then stopped when a straw was popped rather unceremoniously into my mouth. "Drink, Cristan, then I'm going to have Trey and Dan move you to the living room couch, that way you'll be more comfortable." She said, and I obliged her by taking a good few swallows. "Talk to me about Lily, Clara." I said again. I didn't like that she didn't seem too keen on answering me.  
"Let them move you, then I'll talk to you, okay? I need to go check on her anyway, she's resting." Her reply didn't do anything for my nerves, but I dropped it with a low growl as she left the room. Trey and Dan soon showed up to move me, which entailed quite a bit of bitching on my end – and taunts about my new fashion statement from Trey, who decided that my flowered dishrag was the funniest thing ever. He also seemed like he was trying to distract himself. Neither of them would answer me when I asked about Lily, just shook their heads and told me to talk to Clara, and I got much the same response from Erika and Nina. Alison was asleep.

I don't really know how much later it was that Clara came back downstairs to find me laid out on the couch, cocooned in a king-sized quilt so that I had an improvised hood and nothing but my nose, mouth and right arm were showing – the dishtowel had been thrown across the room as soon as Trey and Dan had left, stupid thing – and I took a drag off my cigarette, flicking ashes in the little glass bowl I had balanced on my chest as I regarded her. She seemed haggard, tired. Exhausted would be a better word, and worried. "Clara," I said, scooting my legs over to free up some room on the couch. "Sit, talk to me. What's going on with Lily? No one wants to say anything to me." I paused, then swallowed against the sudden sick feeling I had. "Please tell me she's still alive."

**-(Clara)-**  
I sat down beside Cris, tense and ready for him to lash out. I knew he was intelligent, I knew he was sane... about eighty percent of the time, but I just couldn't get past the idea that I was so close to one of the Infected types that I feared the most. I was fine as long as he was unconscious, but now – my hands automatically went to cradle my stomach, instinctively protecting my child.  
"She's alive." I said, and I actually felt the tension leave Cristan's body, he just went limp in his quilt. "But –" He tensed right back up. "We thought she was going to be okay earlier today, she'd insisted on us bringing her down here so she could see what was going on and make sure they were prepared to get you, then she just went downhill, fast.  
"She complained about her side hurting more than it had been, then she started having trouble breathing, because it hurt her stitches, and she complained of being cold. I checked up on her and she was running a temperature of a hundred and six point three. I'm glad we have some medication here, because left alone, the fever itself would have been lethal.  
"Once I realized she was running a fever that high, I undid the dressings on her side and somehow, in a matter of hours since I last changed it, she'd developed a massive infection in the wounds – I'm afraid its spreading, Cristan. She's got the signs of blood poisoning... the red streaks radiating from the wound.  
"I need a hospital's supplies, and penicillin. I also need a surgeon, because I'm sure you saw that I couldn't completely close her wounds, there wasn't enough skin to stitch togther. She needs skin grafts." I told him, watching as something like agony filled his eye. "How... What are the chances of her living, Clara?" He asked, voice soft and pained.  
"As it stands... Less than thirty percent. If we can raid a hospital and get me more specialized supplies and stronger antibiotics, I might could improve that to a fifty-to-sixty percent chance of survival. Still not the best of odds, and an ideal situation would be a fully stocked, well-staffed hospital... If the world hadn't ended, I could make sure she would be okay."  
"If the world hadn't ended, Clara, she'd be fine – because I never would have hurt her. I would have never met her." Cristan said, grinding out his cigarette. "There's a well-stocked hospital area in the prison. It's not too dirtied by Infected, either. Do you think if we went ahead and moved out there that you could save her, Clara?"  
"Maybe, but I don't know if she's stable enough to be moved." I said, then sucked in a squeak that was meant to be a scream as Cristan lurched forward, a cocoon with claws and teeth. "Clara, God damn it! Do it if you can, do it if you think there's the slightest chance." His voice slid down into something like metal scraping on concrete, the Hunter's scream but with words. "Lily, my bravething, is the _only fucking thing that keeps me sane._ Do _not_ make me lose her! No, no-no-no-nonono. You have to – have … _Fuck_!" His hand was buried in the back of my hair, holding me still. I could see the panic and sheer terror in his eye, see that he was fighting a losing battle with himself, then he let go and clamped his hands over his face while making the most agonized noise I had ever heard. I heard him mumbling, disjointed, running words together and telling himself to think.  
There was blood trickling down the back of my neck from where his claws had grazed my skin. I could tell just by the burn of it that the wounds weren't serious, just him not being careful.  
I needed to keep my calm. Think of him as nothing more than a potentially dangerous, freaked out patient. No sudden movements. Keep my voice low. "Cristan." I said, soft. "I promise you, I will do whatever I can. Just please calm down." He made a low hissing, moaning noise. I wanted to get away from him. Fear for myself, fear for my child. "Listen to me, Cristan." I reached a hand up and placed it gently on his shoulder, trying not to flinch as his body jerked and he growled. He mumbled something that I couldn't quite catch. "Say that again, Cris?" I asked. I kept running my thumb over the spot where his collarbone joined his shoulder – the blanket had fallen to his waist by now – in an attempt to get him to calm down without having to touch him too much. My other hand slid into my pocket, I'd grabbed something to deal with the Hunter in case he freaked out.  
"I said..." He inhaled sharply through his nose and raised his head to look me dead in the eye, "That you need to stop being so fucking _afraid_ of me, Clara." His tongue touched his bottom lip in what I'm sure was an unconscious gesture. "It makes you smell like food."

**oOo**

**-(Nina)-**  
I was sitting there in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to open a can with a pocket knife – Trey made it look so damn easy – as a very pale and shaken looking Clara detailed Cristan's plan to go ahead and move to the prison. The priority of course was Lily. The reason Cris wasn't telling us himself was he'd apparently scared the everlovin' Hell out of Clara and she'd tranked his ass with an overdose of some form of painkiller.  
Which, in short, meant one very angry Hunter when he woke up.  
I tuned back in at the part where she was detailing the need for a large SUV, ambulance, or some sort of covered-bay pick up truck. With both Cris and Lily decommissioned, we needed some way to move them while not forcing either one – especially Lily – to sit upright. Not only did we need it for them, but also to move all the supplies that Trey and Lily had scavenged from town.  
"Send me and Trey out if you like. Keep Erika and Dan on guard detail here. I can drive a stick or an automatic with no issue." I said, earning an incredulous, don't-you-dare look from Trey. I did love him, but damned if he was going to stop me from pulling my weight around here. "Trey," I said, holding up my hand for him to stop before he even started denying my idea. "I need to do something around here. I'm going stir-crazy." This said, I popped the first spoonful of soup in my mouth and looked to Clara with a raised eyebrow.  
"Well, that's settled then," she said, "How soon will you two be ready to go get the extra vehicle?" I shrugged. "Let me finish my soup and I'll be ready to go. Trey, does the car need gas?"  
"It could probably use a little bit, but we've got plenty of reserve." He gestured towards the living room, where we had gas cans lined up near the door. I nodded and dug into my food as Trey stood up and left the room, presumably to refill the car and grab weapons and ammo for both of us.

**-(Trey)-  
**On my way to get gas for the car, I stopped by the couch to check on Cris. I didn't trust Clara not to kill him with some form of medicine and just call it an accident. She preached about never wanting to hurt or kill an Infected – but damn, the woman was pregnant and stuck living with something that scared the shit out of her. I knew it was instinct to wipe out any threat, real or imagined, against your kids. Shit left over from before we crawled out of the trees and made fire.  
I put my hand on Cris's chest, about the only place that wasn't absolutely covered in stitches, and relaxed a bit when I felt a heartbeat. He was just out cold. And poor guy, he was going to be more scar tissue than skin soon. He already looked like someone had fed him through a wood chipper.  
"What are you doing?" Clara said from behind me. I shrugged. "Making sure you didn't kill him. That's my best buddy, there, understand?" Odd thing to say about a Hunter, but true. She nodded. "I understand, Trey." You could tell by her tone that she didn't understand one tiny little bit, but she was going to smile and nod and just go with it. Smart woman. "Stop hoverin' over me and go check on Lily, Clara. Cris ain't movin' for a while." I watched as she seemed to deflate a little bit before heading upstairs. I knew she was frustrated with what was going on with Lily-girl. Wasn't my fault, and she was a fuckin' doctor, so she should damn well pay attention to her patients.

I'd gotten the gas can, plunked it on my shoulder and headed outside... and then my day took a turn for the worse. Why? Well, guess what was chillin' on the roof of the car?  
I got a brief impression of black clothes and duct tape and really long hair before it pounced. "_HOODIE!_" I managed to howl, then the thing slammed into me with all the force of a ton of bricks. The gas can went flying off to the side to leak merrily away as I fought against the thing. I'd gotten too used to the safe house, the smell of death and disease on the Hunter made me sick. Reekin' breath in my face, the thing's long, snarled up, greasy-ass hair in my mouth making me gag. Claws in my sides. I caught a lucky hit to the Hunter's temple with my elbow, dazing it for a second, causing it to lean back and shake its head – then a baseball bat came out of nowhere and caught the Hunter across the throat. It toppled ass-over-elbow back, gagging and trying to breathe as Erika hauled me to my feet, bat still at the ready in her other hand. It screamed, throwing its head back to show two empty sockets where eyes should be. I saw a flash of silver in its mouth. Just great, a fuckin' Goth Hunter, pincushion peircings and all. I would have laughed if I didn't still feel half-flattened.  
Instead, I pulled my pistol from the back of my pants and shot, catching it high in the shoulder. It yelped, snarled, then ducked another bullet and took off like a rabbit with a dog on its ass.  
I sat down on the doorstep with a huge sigh, touching gingerly at the few gouges it had managed to inflict. "Fuck me." I breathed, then looked up at Erika. "Thanks, Eri. Thought my ass was gone."  
She leaned down and righted the gas can, then patted me on the shoulder. "We look out for each other, Trey. You would have done the same for me." She smiled, then leaned against the doorframe. "Go ahead and fill up the car, I'll keep an eye out for the Hunter – or anything else. But if it's a Tank, you're on your own, honey."  
I snorted, picking up the gas can and heading for the car, "Thanks, _babe_. Real reassurin'." I said, then stopped, turned around, and handed her my pistol. "Thisn's got a bit more range than your stick, Eri. I'd feel a bit safer if you used this instead." She took it and checked the ammo like it was second nature, sliding the clip back into place and settling back against the wall. "I got you, go on." She said, and I went about filling up the car, missing the days when the only thing in mortal danger when it came to fueling a vehicle was your wallet.

"We ready?" Nina asked as she walked outside, relieving Erika of my pistol and sending her back in. "Just about." I said, setting the gas can down. "I need to go grab a couple more cans, just in case what we find's runnin' on empty, and I need to get Clara to check out my sides. Fuckin' hoodie just about got me."  
"There was a Hunter out here?" She asked, instantly concerned and by my side, trying to look at my ribs. "Yeah. How the Hell didja miss all the yellin' and carryin' on we were doin'?" I said, relenting and lifting my shirt so that she could see. She hissed in sympathy, then shrugged, "I was upstairs checking on Lily, guess the house is pretty soundproof. Cris is awake, too. Whatever Clara hit him with wore off fast."  
"Oh, shit. Where's Clara?" I raked my hand through my hair as we started back inside. "As far away from Cris as she can get at the moment – she's with Lily." Nina replied, and I nodded, "Good, because I really didn't want to have to deal with Cris pickin' the doctor out of his teeth, and I'm sure he's madder'n Hell."  
She laughed, soft and nervous. "That's one way of putting it. If he wasn't bedridden, I think we'd be in a war zone." I shook my head, then walked through the door to be greeted by the scariest noise I'd ever heard.  
Cris was laying on the couch, like we'd left him, except he was wide awake and staring at me like I was Satan incarnate, teeth bared and a noise I'd expect out of a pissed off crocodile rattling out of his chest. I, understandably, froze in place. Where the Hell was Lily when you needed her?  
"Cris, man, what the Hell?" I asked, edging towards the rest of the gas cans. He followed me with his eyes, not stopping that low growl until he heard the click of a gun cocking. That's right, Nina had my gun now. Erika and Dan were standing in the doorway, one wide-eyed and pale, the other tense, holding a rifle ready to fire. Cris glanced between the two guns, then back at me, baring his teeth again, though he didn't start growling.  
"Come here." Oh, goody. He can still talk. He's out of his fuckin' mind if he thinks I'm going over there. "You sure that's a good idea, Cris?" I asked from my spot by the wall. He made an angry noise. "Don't make me get up, Trey." He sat up as much as he could. "Come. _Here_."  
"Dan, put the gun down. You're too fuckin' trigger happy." I said, then eased across the room, stopping where I thought I'd be just out of Cris' reach. I thought wrong. I found myself hauled to my knees by the couch with Cris' nose plastered to my shirt and him growling again. Nina started to yell something, but Cris waved his hand, cutting her off.  
I was not comfortable with this. One, because there was an already pissed off Hunter less than an inch from my stomach, and two, there was a dude with his face all but pressed up against me. "Cris, dude, what the fuck are you doing?" I started to edge away and he snarled. "There's another Hunter." Good, at least I was getting English out of him. "Yeah, I know. He had a real special way of sayin' hi, if you can't tell. Get off of me, Cris, or I'ma have to hit you."  
That earned an amused snort before he sat back. "I dare you." He reached out and snatched my cigarettes out of my shirt pocket, lighting one and shoving the pack back into my pocket. "Sorry." He said, exhaling and tapping the side of his head. "Hunter instincts. It bothers the shit out of me that there's another one, let alone one that got within touching range of any of you. Bothers me more that I can't get off this fucking couch to go skin him." I nodded, slow. "Uh-huh. Well, that's great and all. You're a good buddy of mine. Never do that again."  
He shook his head, then leaned back, closed his eye and went to work on his cigarette. "Go get the fucking car, Trey. And take a bath, I don't like that smell. Also, tell Clara to stay the Hell away from me with her goddamn needles." He ended that particular sentiment with a rattling snarl. Pretty damn easy to tell that he didn't appreciate her little trank-the-Hunter move.  
"Go get some water and I'll take a bath, Hoodie." I snarked back at him, illustrating the sentiment with a crude hand gesture. I heard him laugh quietly as I walked off in search of Clara. No telling where the other Hunter's claws had been, and I really didn't want to wind up rotting from the inside out or something.

**-(Nina)-  
**While Trey was off getting patched up, I parked it on the coffee table, looking Cris over. "You think you'll be okay to move, Cris?" I asked, watching him hiss and wince as he scooted over to make room for Alison on the couch. She promptly draped herself over his leg and stared up at me. "Where are we going, Ninny?" She asked, and Cris idly ruffled her hair. "Somewhere safer than here, Ali." I said, handing Cris the ash tray when he gestured for it. "I'm fine," he said. "It's Lily I'm worried about. I'm sorry for freaking out a minute ago. Whatever Clara gave me – woozy as Hell and then that other Hunter had to piss me off by existing."  
I shook my head. "You're fine, I just wish you'd be a little more responsive when you do that shit – I don't want to shoot you over a misconception," I lowered my voice, "and I'm afraid Dan's just looking for a chance to get rid of you. He doesn't have a real high opinion of the Infected." Dan had walked back into the kitchen with Erika a few minutes ago. Cris nodded. "Well, he did hold me together after Blue gouged my neck wide open, but I'm not sure if that was out of the goodness of his heart, bless him... or if it was because he knew that if he didn't, he'd have Trey and Lily on his ass." He paused, "Sorry, Ali." Cris tried not to swear around my little sister, something I admired him for. End of the world, Hunterfied and all, and he was still worried about what she needed to be hearing.  
She smiled up at him, "It's okay, mister Cris." She said, then settled her head back on his hip. You could tell that even though Cris was wrapped up in an absolutely massive quilt, he wasn't comfortable with her proximity and his lack of anything but the quilt. Ali hadn't picked up on this due to eight-year-old naïveté. "C'mon, Ali. Let's go bug Eri, okay? Let Cris sleep, he needs it." I said, standing up. She sighed, then wriggled her way back over Cris' legs – hiss, whimper – to grab onto my hand and stand on one foot. Clara would probably be angry with how much she was moving around with her brand new cast, but I couldn't really see how we could stop her. I looked up at Cris when I got Ali steadied, and he mouthed the words _thank you_at me. I just smiled and nodded, then lead Ali off to pester Erika.

I'd just dropped her off at the kitchen table – Erika was now trying to teach a very bouncy Alison how to play blackjack, I wished her good luck – when Trey came down the stairs in a new shirt, smelling like medicine and holding a sawed-off shotgun he'd found somewhere. His fire poker was looped into his backpack. I thought it was a funny choice in weapon until he pointed out that you could beat something senseless with it, or stab them with the 'pokey part of it'. I looked over to where Cristan's machete was leaned against the wall. "Think he'd let me borrow that? It'd make less noise than a gun." I said. Trey shrugged. "'Unno. Ask him. It's not like we don't all grab each other's weapons at some point or another." I picked up the machete on my way out of the kitchen, holding it up in the air when I neared Cris. He blinked, then nodded, "Take it if you want. I'm not using it anytime soon."  
"Thanks." I said, then headed out the door, machete and gas can in hand. Trey, behind me, grabbed up a second can and called out his goodbyes to the rest of the group.

**-(Trey)-**  
I waited for Nina to get settled before handing her the shotgun and other can of gas, then I slid behind the wheel and started the car and we headed into town.  
It wasn't long before I saw what I wanted, stopping in the middle of the street and pointing. "See the church? Look just to the side of it. That church van would be perfect." I said, remembering the last time I'd been around one of those – about ten years ago, but whatever – that it sat about twenty people and had plenty of storage room.  
"I'm not sure, Trey. I really don't want to steal something from a _church._" Nina said, frowning. I shook my head. "No one left alive to claim ownership of it, and if God does exist, I'm pretty sure He'd understand our situation. The only problem is finding keys. And I hope it's not diesel-fueled."  
I pulled into the church parking lot next to the passenger van, and got out of the car, running around to check the door. Locked, of course. Couldn't read the fuel requirements from out here, either. Gas tank cover was operated from inside the van. I sighed, readied my fire poker and gestured to Nina. "Come on, beb. We need to go in and find the keys to get in this thing." She grumbled a bit more about stealing from a church, but unsheathed Cristan's machete and fell into step behind me. We wrestled open the church doors only to be greeted by a massive horde of the Infected. We promptly slammed the door shut again, leaning against it as the Infected pounded against it and howled.  
"Looks like you win, Nina. Change of plans – we're findin' a minivan or an SUV." I said, "'Cause I don't think the two of us would be any good against five hundred zombies in such close quarters." She nodded, "You think? Come on." And she headed back to the car.  
We were about ten feet from the car when a noise from the van caused us both to look up. "Fucking Christ." I groused. "That's the same one that nearly got me at the safe house. How fast can those fuckers move?" Said as I leaned down and picked up a piece of loose pavement roughly the size of my fist. Nina had the machete at the ready, and we were both staring at the Hunter on top of the van. Now that it wasn't moving, I could see the hoodie actually had red stitching on the seams. The thing was wearing tattered black jeans, too, and it was barefoot. And staring right at us, growling as it held one bloodied hand to its shoulder, where I'd shot it.  
"Go on, get!" I yelled, throwing the hunk of asphalt at it. It turned to jump away and my makeshift projectile hit it square between the shoulder blades, dead in the middle of what looked like some sort of warped biohazard symbol on the hoodie. It yelped, toppling off the top of the van. I grabbed Nina and hauled ass for the car, all but throwing her into the backseat as I dove under the wheel. We slammed the doors at almost the exact same time, then she was wriggling between the seats to get into the front. "Where the Hell is it? I'm fuckin' gonna run that bastard over." I snarled. Nina looked out the window. "I don't know. Are you sure that was the same one?" She asked and I gave her a _look. _"No, it just has a twin brother with a matching gunshot wound." She sneered at me, and then we both shut up as it caught our attention, crawling across the parking lot, headed for the church. Not in a good position to run over, either, much to my chagrin. I sighed, then threw the car in reverse, turned around, and headed out of the parking lot. "Nin', I'm sorry. Just frustrated is all." I said, "I didn't mean to snap at you."  
"It's fine." She said, peering down the line of the shotgun, out of the car window. "Don't worry about it." I gnawed on my lower lip, then lit a cigarette. Last thing we needed to be doing right now was fighting, so I figured I'd just keep my big trap shut.

We rode around for a while until we got into what looked like a brand new neighborhood – the sign at the end of the road proclaimed it government housing, which explained why all the houses looked exactly alike – and Nina pointed out a large SUV in one of the driveways. Definitely not diesel, definitely big enough to cart Lily and Cris around, especially if it was one of those with the nifty fold-into-the-floorboard seats. We pulled up next to it, this time going for the shotgun and pistols. It was locked, too, but at least it was in its home driveway.  
"Stay out here, Trey, and keep an eye on the car and anything coming up to the house. I'll go in and find the keys." Nina said, taking the shotgun from me. I was better with pistols anyway. I nodded, then ducked in to plant a quick kiss on her lips. "Be careful, babe." I said, and she nodded, reaching up to brush her hand through my hair. "I will be. Back in a minute. If I yell, come save my ass, okay?" I smiled. "Yes, ma'am." Then leaned against the car, watching as she took off inside.

It wasn't long before I saw motion in the bushes near the edge of the house. I automatically raised my pistols, edging closer to the movement, nearly jumping out of my skin when a large, scrawny dog emerged from the shrubs. Definitely some sort of Shepherd mix, long legs and a narrow face, but with long, soft-looking fur. It was mottled black and gray with some sort of bandanna tied around its neck.  
I kept the pistols trained on it, not knowing if the Infection spread to dogs or not – this was the first live one I'd seen since the Green Flu hit – and watched. It limped towards the trash can at the end of the driveway, then saw me and cringed, whimpering. It was definitely hurt enough that it couldn't move real well. A pang of sympathy went through me and I lowered the guns, tucking them into the back of my pants – Cris kept telling me I'd shoot my own ass off if I kept doing that . I knelt, whistling softly and clicking my tongue. "Over here, pup. C'mon." I beckoned to it with my fingers. The dog's ears perked up as much as they could – fluffy, fold-over things that they were – and its tail started wagging. I whistled to it again and it limped over to me, its entire butt wagging with the force of its happiness to see another living being. I scratched behind the dog's ears as it licked under my chin, making a happy whimpering noise. "Hey there, buddy. What's your name?" I mused to myself, feeling around the dog's neck for a collar, finding nothing but the bandanna, which was emblazoned with the Jack Daniel's 'Old No. 7' logo. I nodded. "Whiskey it is, then. Whatcha think?" The dog cocked its head to the side, and I decided that that was a good enough reaction.  
I led the dog, Whiskey, back over to the car, opening the door and clicking my tongue. It hopped right up and sprawled across the backseat, tail thumping away while it grinned a happy dog smile. I grabbed one of the bottles of water we left in the car and cracked it open, immediately having to deal with wet-dog-nose all over my hands as he sniffed at it. I held it just outside the car door and tipped it, and Whiskey went to drinking the water pouring out like he'd never seen the stuff before. Once he seemed satisfied, I put the cap back on the water, making a mental note as to which bottle was covered in dog drool, and turned in time to blow the head off a common Infected that was rushing the car.

**-(Nina)-**  
The owner of the house had apparently already dealt with himself, going by the shotgun-wielding, headless corpse in the living room, so all I had to do was raid the house for the ammo, take the shotgun, and go hunting for the keys.  
On my third round of the entire house, I finally gave in and searched the corpse's pockets. The keys were, of course, there. I nodded to the corpse, crossed myself, and got the Hell out of that house.  
I opened the door right in time to catch Trey blowing away one of the normal zombies. I went into defensive mode – those things traveled in packs. I caught two with a single shotgun blast and then everything was quiet again. This town was oddly quiet – but then, I guess they were all in the churches. I shuddered at the thought of the swarming mass that Trey and I had opened the doors to.  
A soft whimpering noise caught my attention as I approached the car, and I peered around a very happy-looking Trey to see a large, mangy looking mutt taking up most of the backseat. "What... is that?" I asked.  
"A dog." Trey gave me an absolutely huge grin. "I named 'im Whiskey. He's a good dog. I'm keeping him." I had to laugh. Trey was like an enthusiastic little kid. "Trey, baby, what are we going to feed him? Dogs usually don't do too well on canned chili and beans – Hell, _I _don't do too well on canned chili and beans." Trey shrugged. "Stop by the farm supply store or the grocery store, get one of those big ol' bags of dog food. Teach 'im how to hunt. Y'get the keys? Whatcha want to drive?"  
"Okay, but you're going in to the store. I'll drive the SUV so I don't have to smell mangy dog. Let's make sure it has gas, first." I said, walking to the SUV and wincing as it beeped when it unlocked. "Fuckin'..." I muttered, listening for any sound of the horde. When it was quiet for a few seconds, I decided that they all really were in the churches. I crawled in, adjusted the seat, and started the car, immediately diving to turn down whatever CD the previous owner had had blaring. Whatever came out of my mouth must not have been pretty, because it made Trey blush. I checked the gas, then nodded, "Half a tank, it'll get us back to the safe house, at least. Let's go get your mutt some food, and then we need to get back. Lily's waiting on us."  
"You go on ahead, babe. Just give me the shotgun. Clara's probably standin' on her head by now." He said, holding out his hand. "Trey, no, not alone." I said, shaking my head and backing up a step. "Baby, I'm just getting dog food, and if you'll give me the shotgun, I'll be fine." He said, wagging his fingers for the shotgun. I finally caved. "You die, and I'll kill you all over again, understand?" I said, accepting the pistol he offered me. He laughed. "I hear you. Hold up a sec." He walked back to the car and took one of the gas cans out, putting it in the backseat of the SUV. "Just in case. I'll see you back at the safe house, alrighty?"  
"All right." I said, and he smiled at me and shut the door to the SUV, I watched as he shut the back door on the car and climbed into the driver's side, waited for him to pull out. I sighed, throwing the SUV into reverse and easing out of the driveway. I turned to go back to the safe house, Trey turned to go into town. I tried to shake the sick feeling I had, the feeling that I might not ever see him again.

**-(Trey)-**  
I watched Nina drive off in the rearview, and then Whiskey popped his head up from the backseat, panting happily. I smiled, then headed for the farm supply store. "We're gonna get you some food, then I'll getcha back to Clara, see if she can't patch you up, pup." I said.  
It didn't take me long at all to find the farm supply store, parking, hopping out of the car and walking right in... through the busted glass door. I didn't even have to open it. I brought the shotgun up as soon as I entered the store and edged towards the pet section, suddenly more wired than if I'd drunk a gallon of coffee. It'd just sunk in that I was totally alone out here.  
An odd, acrid stench hit me, followed immediately by a phlegmy hacking noise. "Fuck." I hissed, turning towards the noise. There was a Smoker staring at me from the end of the aisle.  
_BAM._  
Fuck if shotguns weren't loud inside. I dissolved into a coughing fit as the cloud of smoke from the popped Smoker surrounded me, leaning against the shelf. Then something slammed into me, giggling. Fuckin' Jockey, really? I was left to twist around like a mad thing, trying to get the bastard off of me. _Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck!  
_No, I didn't have any, oh-God-I'ma-die thoughts. I was just mentally cussin' the bastard out. I closed my eyes and raised the shotgun up by my head, the noise of the blast wiping out the hearing in my right ear, but the little fucker dropped off of me, dead as it could be. I growled to myself and rushed to the back of the store, skidding to a halt and making a quick selection. Fifty pound bag of Iams? Free? Hell yes. Loosen my belt, shove the shotgun between my belt and my pants, and heave that thing up on my shoulders and run for the door. Toss the food in the passenger side, crawl in the driver side and floor that bitch out of there. Lord knows, there could have been a Charger in the farm tools section or something.

**-(Dan)-**  
We'd gotten the seats in the SUV laid down and we were trying to figure out how much stuff we could fit in around Lily and Cristan – we hadn't moved them yet – when Trey pulled up to the safe house, got out, then opened the back door to let a large black dog out of the car. "Hey, Danny-boy." He said with a loose salute, then he carried on into the house, calling for Clara, the dog limping along behind him. Nina slammed into him at the doorway, wrapping the hick in a tight hug. I shook my head. Stupid. Getting in a relationship during a zombie apocalypse. You should be worried about yourself and your group, not any one person more than the others. Stupid, stupid people I was stuck with. They wouldn't last long. Either a petty fight would tear them apart, or they'd be distracted and killed by the Infected.  
Speaking of, who's bright idea was it to keep one of those fuckers alive, even if it could talk? I mean, yes, Cris had his uses, but honestly, he seemed to do nothing but try to kill Lily and get himself half-killed. I could count the times I'd seen him relatively healthy on one hand, and Lily had been pretty much incapacitated the entire time Clara and I had been with this group. I thought he would be better off if someone would put him out of both his and our misery.  
An absolutely God-awful noise jerked me out of my thoughts, and I dropped everything I was doing to haul ass into the house. Just inside the door, I skidded to a halt, regarding the bizarre scene with something akin to exasperated disgust. I was tired of that fucking Hunter setting everyone on edge.  
He had the damn dog pinned down by the neck next to the couch, growling at it. It was growling right back like the smart dog it should be, Trey was yelling something about Cris had better not kill his damn dog, and Cris snapped his teeth in Trey's general direction. "I'm not going to kill your dog, I'm just proving a point before it tries to kill _me_again." He said, then turned back to the mutt that was now cowering and whimpering. Stupid dog. Cris let out one last deep growl, then let go of the dog, which slowly climbed to its feet, licking the Hunter's fingers before it slunk back over to Trey, who immediately dropped and started scratching behind its ears. "Clara, Whiskey's limpin', would you see what's wrong with him when you get done with Lily?" He asked, looking over at Clara, who nodded. "Yes, Trey. Now come on, the longer we stay here, the less chance Lily has. I need you and Dan to move her. I'll go set up the pallet in the back of the SUV."

When we got upstairs, I had to wince. Lily, unconscious on the bed, was grayer than Cristan ever hoped to be, barely breathing, and you could definitely smell the infection on her. I just hoped that Clara knew what she was doing when it came to saving this girl.  
"Trey, I think moving her might kill her." I said, hooking my thumbs through my belt loops. He nodded, "I know, man, but leavin' her here will definitely kill'er. Clara don't got what she needs here, and it ain't clean enough. Even if there was zombies in the prison, the hospital's gotta be cleaner than this house."  
"Trey, Dan, bring her down!" Clara called up the stairs, and I sighed, moving forward and pulling the blankets off of the unconscious girl, who immediately started shivering. I took her legs, Trey took her upper body, and then he called Erika in to grab the IV that Clara had hooked into Lily's arm. Once all limbs and medication were present and accounted for, we carefully maneuvered down the stairs and out to the SUV, where the difficult part was lifting Lily up into the back of the vehicle without tearing her stitches wide open or jarring her too much.  
We eventually managed, though Trey did almost drop her on the first attempt. Erika hung the IV bag off of the little hook above the rear passenger door, and then Trey and I, following Clara's orders, padded the area around Lily with blankets so that she wouldn't get jounced around more than could be avoided.  
Then it was time to move the Hunter. Fun.  
"I can walk, I swear." Cris grumbled, and Trey shook his head, "No, man, you can't. You're just a stubborn git. 'Sides, you'd have to get out of that quilt to walk anywhere, and I don't want to see your zombie ass naked." He said, then bent down, "Dan, get his feet before he can start kickin'."  
Trey wrapped the blanket around so that Cris was completely covered, and I grabbed the bundle that was his lower legs and feet – Cris let out a sound like a pissed-off tomcat, and I had to readjust so that I wasn't holding any of the stitches, which meant I had nothing but a rather precarious grip on his ankles. Trey had the edges of the quilt where he'd twisted them together above Cristan's head. We heaved and hauled the awkward bundle off of the couch, I ignored the filth that was coming out of the Hunter's mouth, apparently we were pulling his stitches and he was just plain sore, and he had all sorts of interesting names for Trey and I.  
So, during the trip to the SUV, we wound up being the source of amusement for Nina and Erika, us and our foul-mouthed, so-called giant Hunter-burrito.  
We heaved and shoved him in next to Lily, and Clara had us repeat the whole padding-with-blankets ordeal. Thankfully, whoever's house we'd taken over apparently owned stock in a blanket company.

Then, we loaded up the car and what remaining room there was in the SUV with all the canned food and medical supplies we could fit in the damn thing. The SUV was one of those absolutely massive ordeals, so even with a six-foot-five 'Hunter-burrito' in there, we could still manage to fit quite a bit in.  
The only real problem wasn't our stuff, but where the Hell everyone was going to sit.  
Alison and Clara wound up sitting in the small area available above Lily's head, Erika got stuck with Whiskey in the car, I was riding shotgun with Nina in the SUV. It had been decided that Trey was going to be stuck laying down behind Cristan, which the little redneck, of course, complained about... Until Nina offered to strap him to the roof of the SUV.  
"Hold on a second." He said, right before we were ready to leave, turning and running back inside of the safe house.

**-(Trey)-**  
I walked back inside, pulling the ever-present Sharpie out of my pocket and looking up at the message I'd scrawled on the wall. I grinned to myself, then added a line under the main message.  
This done, I headed outside and crawled into the back of the SUV, wedging myself between Cris and the side of the vehicle. Dan shut the trunk hatch and climbed in to the passenger seat, rolled down the window and readied his shotgun – going by what I could hear, at least – and we were moving. Headed to Georgia State Prison. Hope to God it had what Lily-girl needed.

**-(The Safe House Wall)-**_  
We are planning a Takeover of the Georgia State Prison, which is about a Mile and a half from this safe House. If successful, we will be able to offer a safe Place, with Food, water, and Shelter. We cannot help you if you are not immune, because We know for sure that at least One of our group is a Carrier._

_If we succeed, we will Let you know on this Wall._

_- Trey Dolly, Erika H., Nina Ricardo, Lily Lynn, Cristan Wight and Alison Edin._

_We have cleared Out all Infected, and We are Moving to Clean and Prepare the prison for population. All IMMUNE survivors are Welcome._

_- T.D._


	13. INRI

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

**(Do I own Left 4 Dead? Really? Lemme check. Uh... Negative.)**

**I am so sorry that this took so long. I got about four pages into it a couple of months ago, then hit some massive writer's block, and when I finally felt quasi-inspired again, my father passed away (17 Nov 2011). I've been pretty much useless for anything art/writing for the past few days.  
(Note added 27 Nov 2011)**

**(All of this paragraph below added … in September, maybe?)**

**INTRODUCING... Well, dammit, read the story.**

**I didn't do the whole 'Saving Lily Surgery GO GO GO' thing because I don't really know how to describe surgery.**

**My family has a lot of medical work history – my mom was a nurse or something in the Navy, my dad did something medically related in the Navy, and worked in hospital housekeeping forever, and my sister worked in hospital supply for like 7 years, and my grandmother was the CRNA (Certified Registered Nurse Anesthetist) for the hospital in Reidsville for something like fifty years, so... I have a general idea, just not the most in-depth knowledge. You throw a medical term at me, or a procedure, and I generally know what you're talking about, just not really how it works.  
**

**Also, for anyone not sure what Trey's talking about in a couple of character POV shifts: Vivisection is dissection on a live subject.**

**Longest chapter yet. 11,587 words and 11 pages long in Open Office. Font: Times New Roman, size ten.  
(Note added 28 Nov 2011.)  
**

* * *

_"I am the wrath, the wretched, the fury."  
- Psyclon Nine: Thy Serpent Tongue  
_

* * *

**-(- Two Weeks After Move -)-**

**-(Trey)-  
**I'd just gotten done talking to Lily-girl, she'd been awake off and on for the past couple of days, though she was still drugged out of her mind and talking nonsense most of the time. Clara thought she'd make it, but we still weren't totally in the clear. There was a lot of muscle damage, we all knew that, but we were facing the idea that Lily might be permanently crippled in her right side, 'cause of more damage from the wounds getting infected.  
Anyway, she had me out here in the courtyard of the prison, running perimeter scouting. Definitely awake enough to give orders – even though I'd been on my way out here in the first place.  
I groaned and stretched, Lord but I was sore. Dan, the girls, and I had spent the past two weeks de-gore-ifying the prison and making it livable, and then Dan and I had been sent out on furniture runs. Meaning, really, that we got to act like we were movin' house every day – right down to the U-Haul that was parked in the courtyard now – and moving heavy furniture all the fuckin' time. We'd replaced some of the prison cots – lemme tell you, wrenching them bitches out of the wall was _fun _– with real beds, nothing too big would fit in the cells, but we were doing okay. None of us needed a lot of room. We'd turned one of the rec areas into something Nina called a living area, but I thought it looked more like a red-tag clearance at a furniture store. Nothing matched and we had like six couches in there. The running theory was that we'd be getting more survivors and everyone needed a place to park their ass. I disagreed, I figured everyone's ass had better not be parked and had better be up on the walls or tending the fields that came with this damn prison.  
Cris wasn't being useful at all, he was either plastered to Lily's side, or trying to be helpful but really just staggering around pretending he was Billy Bad-Ass and not still hurt... Which lead to me shoving him out of the way and telling him to go sit his ass down nine times out of ten. He didn't like it, but damn it, he was useless until those stitches were all out and he wasn't running the risk of disintegrating like a bad-made scarecrow.

A noise from above me jerked me out of my thoughts, and I swore. I was the only one out here, stupid move on my part, and even though we had bike-powered generators running the gates, I forgot that some things, if determined enough, could get over the fuckin' walls. Razor wire notwithstanding.  
I looked up and, lo and behold, there was a rather familiar looking Hunter perched on top of the wall. The others thought I was nuts because I swore up and down the little fucker was following me, but there he was. I'd seen him a few more times around town – but he was always gone before I could introduce his face to the business end of my shotgun.  
"Aw, man. What the fuck are you, the crocodile from Peter fuckin' Pan?" I said to the Hunter. In reply, he screamed and threw himself off the wall at me, and I reeled back so fast that I landed on my ass. Lucky for me, though, he overshot and landed a few feet behind me with a sharp pain-type noise. I scrambled to my feet, fire poker at the ready. The Hunter was curled into himself, clutching the shoulder I'd shot him in a couple of weeks ago, his hoodie stiff with dried blood and a nasty yellowish gunk around the wound.  
"Hurt?" I said, and the thing's head snapped around towards me with yellowed, razor-sharp teeth bared. It lunged, and I swung, catching it full across the face with the ball-and-point combination at the end of the fire poker. Something made a satisfying cracking noise and the Hunter howled, hand coming from his shoulder to cover his cheek and nose – which was pouring blood – before it jumped at me.  
I found myself flat on my back, again, poker rolling off to the side and the little – maybe not so little, it was taller than me, I think – monster clawing and biting at me like a mad thing. I screamed, arching involuntarily as its claws tore along the healing welts from the last time it had pounced me, then I brought my arms up and yanked the fucker's hood back with one hand, driving my other thumb deep into one of the already-empty eye sockets. It made a god awful noise as it was assaulted both by the light and by my thumbnail, wrenching itself away from me. I reached out and grabbed the fire poker, then rolled to my feet – spots danced in front of my eyes at the pain of moving. God damn, but I hated Hunters sometimes.  
The thing had its hood back in place by then and was already preparing to jump at me again when adrenaline really kicked in. I ran at the damn thing like the dumbass I am, and just _laid into _the fucker with everything I had. I know I broke its wrist, maybe a couple of ribs. Definitely know I broke its leg, two solid whacks to the thigh, just above the knee – noise of bone cracking and the thing collapsed, screaming. It curled into an odd little ball as it tried to scoot away from me, but I was having none of that, beating it across the back, the ribs, the leg I'd already broke. I was fucking _done _with this fucker following me. "I – am – not – on – the – fuckin' – menu!" I snarled at it between whacks with the fire poker.  
The Hunter eventually stopped trying to get away. It was half on its side, half on its back, one arm clutched to its body, the other one raised as if to shield itself while it made the most piteous, high pitched wail. I grunted and kicked him over onto his back, raising the fire poker with the pointy-end down, all prepared to drive the point under the Hunter's ribcage and kill the thing when –  
"Trey! _No!_" Clara's cry jerked me to a halt right as I started to slam the poker down. I planted my foot on the Hunter's throat and turned to stare at her as she ran up. "And jus' why the Hell not, doc? This thing's been doggin' me for two weeks." I drawled, already knowing the answer. She narrowed her eyes at me, though I noticed she stayed well out of the Hunter's reach. "He's still a person, insane or not, its wrong to kill them."  
"You were perfectly willin' to risk overdosin' Cris when he scared you – even though he couldn't do anything but sit there bundled up in his quilt. Practice what y'say, doc." I bit out. She crossed her arms. "Well, if he's been following you, what if he's like Cristan? What if we can rehabilitate him? Would you rather kill him?" I opened my mouth to answer her and the Hunter made a strangled wailing noise. I looked down at it, then swayed a bit. She'd killed my adrenaline rush and I realized that I was going to need some serious stitches because I'd torn my sides a bit more with all the frantic swinging of the fire poker. But God damn it, did the thing have to look so fuckin' pathetic?  
I took my foot off of its throat, then undid my belt and slid it off, grasping both ends of it in one hand as I knelt by the Hunter, who promptly snapped his teeth at me. I reached over and pressed down none-too-gently on the gunshot wound in his shoulder and he arched and screamed so hard that his voice cracked. I left my hand there for a second, watching the Hunter writhe as Clara tried to gather the courage to get close enough to pull me away from the Hunter.  
Now, I'm not a sadist or whatever, those people who enjoy torturing other people, I was just trying to accomplish something. I pressed down a bit harder and he wailed, trailing off into this high pitched keening noise. I knew that if you hurt someone bad enough, it would wear their bodies down until they were too fucking exhausted to move – and this is what I was aiming for. The Hunter was already hurt bad, and the pain from me poking at its nasty, infected gunshot wound would probably have the thing passing out here in a second – yep, there we go.  
The Hunter went completely limp and I lifted my hand from his shoulder, looping my belt around his wrists and binding it tightly. Even if one of its wrists was broken, I didn't doubt that he'd still try to use the hand attached to it.  
"There, get Dan and Nina to help you move him." I said, "I can't do it. Fucker tried to turn me into confetti."

**-(Clara)-**  
"Come with me, I'll stitch you up." I said, taking Trey by the arm and leading him inside the prison. He paused long enough to call Nina and Dan over. "There's a Hoodie in the yard, out cold and tied up. Bring him down to-" Trey looked at me and I finished for him, "The psych area of the hospital branch. I need to tend the Hunter's wounds and keep him restrained at the same time."  
Dan opened his mouth to protest and I held up a hand. "We're going to try to rehabilitate the Hunter, much like Cristan." I said while trying to send him an entirely different message with my eyes. He must have understood, because he suddenly looked even less happy, but he and Nina went out after the long haired Hunter. Hopefully, Dan wouldn't complain about my idea. I didn't see anyone here agreeing with it, though it was necessary.

I led Trey down to the hospital area and had him take off his shirt so that I could assess the wounds. "The Hunter had gunk from his gun wound all over his hands, too. Lord knows what else." Trey muttered. I tsked, then went about the task of disinfecting the wounds and stitching them, something I had discovered was relatively easy with Trey – he knew how to sit still and not complain.  
"You said the Hunter's been following you for two weeks?" I asked him as I worked. He nodded, "Yeah, since the day we left the safe house. Remember? He attacked me then, and then when Nin' and I went to go get a vehicle, we saw it again at that church, the gray one – Baptist, I think?" I could tell he was babbling merely because of the fact that I was running a needle and thread through his flesh over and over again. He had a tendency to over-detail when he was in pain. "Then I seen him a few times when me'n Danny-boy were out furniture huntin'. Bastard'll be up on a roof somewhere, or Hell, one time I turned around and the fucker was standin' right behind me. Gone 'fore I could shoot him again – ow – but... That creeped me the Hell out. Wasn't but, oh, three foot from me." Trey shook his head, then glanced up as Dan and Nina came through with the Hunter, who was starting to stir. "Y'all got him?" He asked, and Dan nodded, "Yeah, we're good." Nina didn't look so convinced, but she didn't say anything.  
"Put him on one of the tables with the restraints, please, and go ahead and tie him down – just make sure you don't cut off his circulation." I said, not even looking up from Trey's side. "Will do," Nina said, and then they were gone into the next part of the medical wing. They were followed shortly by Trey's new pet, Whiskey, who hopped right up on the bed next to Trey. I grimaced at the dog. I didn't want it in the hospital area, but where Trey went, so went the dog. It liked to eat important objects if separated from Trey for more than a few minutes. Trey idly scratched behind the dog's ears. "What're you gonna do to that Hunter in the psych ward?" He asked, "Noticed you got a funny look on your face when you told Dan you was rehabilitatin' him."  
I frowned. He wasn't supposed to have noticed that. "I don't know what you're talking about." I said, then shrugged. "First I'm going to tend his wounds, you inflicted quite a few. Bathe him, round up some different clothing for him because what he's wearing is absolutely filthy – and then try to figure out how to salvage his mind." _While also trying to figure out everything I possibly can about that particular branch of Infected. _I added mentally. Yes, I was legally little more than a general practice doctor and a surgeon I was not, but I knew my way around a laboratory – I had been working towards my PhD in pathology while running a small practice – and if we were to ever find a cure for this Green Flu, I needed something to study.  
Trey nodded, though he didn't look entirely convinced. "A'ight, then, doc. How much longer for these stitches?"  
"Just have to do the other side, then let me dig you out some antibiotics to prevent infection."

**-(Trey)-**  
I sat there like a good little patient until she finished up with me, at which point I hopped off the table – ow – and followed her to the big giant medicine cabinet, Whiskey on my heels. She handed me a bottle of some sort of thick sludge and told me to take so-and-so amount at such-and-such time. Honestly, I wasn't paying that much attention. I was worried about the look she'd given Dan, and Dan's understanding of it. What the fuck did the doc have planned for the Hoodie in there? When they were subdued and not trying to eat my fuckin' face, I may be a little partial to 'em. Cris had a lot to do with that. I didn't want her vivisecting the thing, or whatever the term was.  
"Thanks, doc." I said as I took the sludgy medicine from her. She nodded, distracted. Her eyes kept going to the psych ward. I seriously hoped the bad knotty feelin' in my stomach was just the result of nearly being turned into _filet _ofTrey. I leaned down and scratched Whisk behind the ears when he nudged my hand. "Well, we're gonna get out of your way, Doc. Thanks for the stitches." I said and headed for the door. "Don't forget to take that medicine the way I told you, Trey." She called after me and I waved my hand in acknowledgment.

Upstairs, I finally caught up to the person I needed to talk to.  
"Hey, Cris!" I called after the tall guy, he turned and raised his single brow at me. "Is Lily-girl awake enough to talk?" I asked as I caught up to him, the Hunter had ridiculously long legs, thus was a pain in the ass to keep up with – one of his strides equaled about two or three of mine. He shrugged, "I don't know, I was on my way to her room. She's doing a lot better today, though." He said with a slight smile. I nodded, "Good. You run in to Nina or Dan yet?" He shook his head, "No, why?"  
"All right. Lets wait til we get to Lily's room. Got something to tell you." I said, and then we didn't speak until we crossed the threshold to Lily's room – read: Lily and Cris now occupied one of the solitary confinement cells, and boy had it been fun the day Cris had accidentally locked the two of 'em in there. I grinned as Lily perked right up, then held out her arms. "I am freezing." She complained, and Cris shook his head, then curled up on the bed beside her, letting her leech his fever-heat. Hell, you could be sitting ten feet from Cris and it was like being in the room with one of those little electric space heaters.  
"Clara's got another Hunter down in the psych ward. The one that I kept tellin' everyone was followin' me. Doc wouldn't let me kill'im." I got this much out before I realized Cris was growling. "Is she _insane_?" He hissed between his teeth. I sat down on the end of the bed, having to find a spot to wedge myself between Lily's feet and Cris's spiky gargoyle toes of doom. I shrugged, "She said she wants to 'rehabilitate' 'im. My problem, though, is the look she gave Danny-boy when she told him that." I pulled out my pack of cigarettes, then paused. "Lily, is it safe to smoke around you?" I asked the small woman. She shrugged one shoulder, "I don't see why not, Cris does. But, what look?"  
"Like a kid at Christmas mixed with, I'unno. Ever tried to tell someone somethin' without actually saying it out loud?" They both nodded, Cris snagged a cigarette from me as he did so. "Yeah, that look." I finished rather lamely. "I'm jus' worried that she's gonna use him as a guinea pig or somethin'. I beat the everlovin' shit out of that Hunter earlier, so I don't think he could really fight back if he wanted to, not t'mention, his shoulder's fucked up pretty bad from where I shot him a couple of weeks ago."  
Cris started to wriggle his way off of the bed, making some very ugly noises under his breath as he went. I grabbed him by the wrist. "Whoa, Hoodie. Where d'y'think you're goin'?" I asked, and he yanked his arm out of my grasp. "I don't want another fucking Hunter here, but I also don't want her using the thing as a lab rat." He snarled, then headed out the door.

**-(Clara)-**  
I stood over my new 'patient', just looking at him for a moment. He was awake. I really couldn't summon up fear for the creature, tied down and hurt as it was. He, not it. Still human in there, somewhere. I sighed, turned on the tape recorder I'd scavenged on one of our excursions into town, and set it on the table by the bed. He snarled and hissed, snapping in the direction of my fingers. I was far outside of the reach of his teeth, however.  
"This is Doctor Clara Dannis, at the Georgia State Prison," I paused, checked my watch and read off the date. "Beginning the study of a captured individual infected with the Green Flu. The patient is infected with one of the more mutated strains of the virus, which has subsequently turned him into what is commonly known among survivors as either a Hunter, Leaper, or Hoodie.  
For the sake of this tape, I will go over the basics of what differentiates what we will from here call a Hunter from the lesser Infected: Hunters appear to have enhanced hearing, much more sensitive olfactory senses, and something akin to thermal vision. I haven't the skill to figure out why exactly they develop heat-sensing vision once the eyes themselves are clawed out. Which, this they do. Upon full infection, it is very rare to see a Hunter that has not removed its own eyes. They appear to be extremely light sensitive as well, leading up to the nickname 'Hoodie'. It is extremely, extremely rare to see one of these higher Infected without some sort of hooded sweatshirt or parka on, with the hoods pulled as far over their eyes as possible. The nickname 'Leaper' comes from the reinforced and mutated muscles and bones in a Hunter's body, making them much more swift and agile than your typical uninfected, athletic man. I have witnessed Hunters leaping off of ten story buildings, landing no worse for the wear. They can lunge forward upwards of twenty feet from a dead-still crouch, and have very little issues with climbing. The final nickname, however, comes from the most disturbing aspect of these infected. A Hunter is called such for precisely that reason: they actively hunt uninfected humans. While the lesser infected are extremely violent and will try to kill any uninfected that get within their area, they will not eat them. Hunters are nowhere near as passive as the lesser infected. Hunters seem to set up certain territories and will actively hunt within these territories until they are bare, moving on only when the food runs out. They will eat uninfected humans, and seem to prefer this meal above all others. Their other mutations allow them to be highly effective at hunting, as well.  
"The Hunter has no finger tips – the bone of the end-joint of the finger has mutated into an inch-long, hooked claw, and the joint attached to this claw can bend at an almost ninety degree angle either forward or back. Their toes are the same. Their human teeth have fallen out to be replaced with almost reptilian teeth designed to puncture and tear meat exclusively. The only human teeth remaining are the molars. Their teeth are a bit smaller than an uninfected human's, but there are many more of them than human teeth."  
"Yeah, we have a mouth full of razors. What the fuck are you doing?" I screamed and whirled towards the door, hand protectively clamped to my stomach. "C-Cristan!" I stammered, reaching over to fumble the recorder into turning off, nearly dropping the thing in my haste. "What are you down here for? Oh, well, your stitches are supposed to come out today. I'll – I'll be with you in a minute." I babbled. That one eye narrowed on me, and he walked fully into the room. "What are you doing, Clara?" He asked again.  
"I want to rehabilitate him. See if we can..." I gestured towards him, groping for the word I wanted. He snorted. "You want to give another Hunter his brain back?" He asked, I nodded. "Yes. Exactly." I watched as that single eyebrow almost hit his hairline. "I don't think you're going to get very far by keeping him strapped to a table." He drawled. I shook my head. "No, he's injured, and I need to sedate him long enough to clean him and deal with his injuries. After that – I don't know what to do to keep him from killing us, but I want to try."  
"A high-voltage shock collar might do the trick." Dan's voice came from behind us. Cris shook his head, "It would cripple him... and piss him off to an extremely high degree. You don't want to try to make friends with a pissed off, cornered Hunter." He smiled, I think it was deliberate – to show off those teeth. Dan scowled, leaning against the door frame.

We all just kind of looked at each other for a moment, then the captive Hunter seemed to catch up with the program, sniffing the air and then all-out keening, this high, terrified noise. Cris's head snapped around, teeth bared at the other Hunter. It reacted by bucking wildly on the gurney it was strapped to – obviously trying its damnedest to get away from Cristan.  
Cris brushed me out of the way as he stepped up to the gurney, sending the other Hunter into a veritable apoplexy. He screamed in the captive Hunter's face, and next thing I knew, Cristan was straddling the other Hunter, one hand wrapped around its throat as he slid the other hand up under the Hunter's hoodie, his nose about a centimeter from the long-haired Hunter's. He started a low, bass growl that I felt more than heard as the captive Hunter redoubled its struggles.  
"What the fuck? That looks... queer." Was Dan's so-helpful comment. I ignored him and rushed up to Cris, grabbing his arm. "What are you doing?" I all-but screamed, "He's hurt and you don't need to be putting pressure on him, get off –" Cristan twitched his arm, dislodging me while at the same time, he did something with the hand under the other Hunter's hoodie, sending the other Hunter bucking up off the gurney with a strangled scream – except it didn't sound like an angry scream. More agonized. "_CRISTAN!_" I shrieked, grabbing at his arm and tugging as hard as I could. I wasn't going to sit here and watch Cris slowly gut my new pet project.  
Next thing I knew, I had Cris's teeth snapping in my face. "Woman. Off of me. _NOW!_" The last word turned into a scream, and Dan lurched forward and hauled me back. The tell-tale chink of a revolver cocking had me looking up. Dan had his gun trained on Cris, who was just staring at him. "Dan, if you were actually going to shoot me, you would have done it by now. Put the fucking gun down."  
"What the hell are you doing, Hunter?" Dan asked, not lowering the gun a centimeter. Cris smiled. "Hunters, by nature, have a god complex among themselves. Unless you beat the shit out of one, it's never going to acknowledge you as dominant. I was here first." The smile turned downright nasty. "So, in essence – I'm proving two things. I own this territory... and all the prey in it." He nodded to us, indicating what the 'prey' was. "He either gets with the program and submits, or you, Clara, will have to find you a much more puny Hunter to rehab, because he's big enough to be a rather large threat to me when he's healed, and if he doesn't understand his new position in life – I will kill him." He emphasized this by twisting the hand under the Hunter's hoodie, eliciting a wail from the captive. Then the other Hunter made a rather stupid move, lunging up as far as it could and snapping its teeth at Cristan. Cris reared back, snarling, then lunged and set his teeth into the captive's throat, shaking his head like a dog worrying a bone. The other Hunter made a strangled noise and fought his bonds, trying to get free of both them and the Hunter sitting on him.  
I tried to rush forward again, but Dan grabbed my arm and hauled be back again, wrapping both of his arms around me to keep me still. "They're gonna fight no matter what you do, Clara." He said. "Either Cris can do this now, while the other one's weak and easy to beat down, or you can wait for your new little buddy to get healed up and this fight could end up a lot more bloody. Your choice, sweetheart. Remember, I used to have a whole herd of hunting dogs. I've seen this plenty of times – just never in people."

The pinned Hunter eventually stopped struggling – I had a moment of fear that Cristan had killed him – and Cris let go, sitting back to straddle the Hunter's hips, just staring down at him. The Hunter just lay there for a second, panting heavily, then it leaned its head back as far as it could, baring its throat to Cris, who let out a low, satisfied-sounding growl before hopping off the gurney, leaning against it as he regarded me. "See?" He smiled, "Of course, he'll still try to tear you apart, I'm sure, but he won't bother me all that much."  
I sighed. "I need something to sedate him with. You guys burn through morphine, among other, actual sedatives, like it's nothing. I need something –"  
"Special K."  
I blinked at Cris. "Huh? What?" I asked, and he shrugged. "I don't remember what the actual name of it is, but the street name is Special K. It's a horse tranquilizer or something."  
"Ketamine." Dan chimed in, "Yeah. I know what he's talking about. It would probably work as long as you were careful with the doses. It's a large livestock sedative. A vet's office would probably have it, if they dealt with cows and horses on any sort of regular basis."  
"Well, if there's a vet here, they'd definitely have it, going by all the fields and pastures we're surrounded by." Cris shrugged.  
I smiled, "Good. You two can go out to the vet's office as soon as I remove Cristan's stitches, and find some."  
That earned me an incredulous glare from both of them, as they said at the exact same time, "You want me to go out with _him_?" I sighed and massaged my temples. "You two are the only ones who are capable enough to go out practically solo. Nina's taking care of Alison, Erika's dealing with Lily, both of them are also doing guard duty here, and Trey got torn up by him." I pointed at the Hunter on the table. "So, I would really appreciate it if you stopped this stupid human-versus-infected thing you have going and go get me the damn drug so I can try to rehab this one."

Cris held up his hands, "All right, fine." and Dan nodded, "You get his stitches, I'll go load up on ammo. Cris, I've never seen you shoot, can you handle a gun?"  
Cris snorted, then waggled his fingers at Dan. "I can shoot, but I'd much rather use these."

**-(Cristan)-**  
I was up in the room I shared with Lily, just checking in on her before we left... and thinking.  
Of course, as soon as Trey got wind of me getting de-stitched and going out into the great big world, he started complaining that I wasn't healed up enough. I was forced to remind him that he wasn't my mother.  
Other Hunter. Pff. I doubt that Clara could rehab him. I'd be extremely surprised. I really would. Stupid preything thinking she could fix everything. Stupidstupidstupid. Think, Cris, think. Whole sentences are a good idea.  
Problem: was she going to guinea pig him? I may not like the idea of another Hunter being in my territory – I mean, Hell, look at how the issue with Blue turned out. I ran my fingers over the scars on my neck and chuckled. I had gills to match his now. But, as I was thinking, I may not like the idea of another Hunter, but something in me absolutely balked at the idea of her cutting him open and experimenting on him.  
Clara may not like it, but I was going to be up her ass pretty much twenty-four seven about this Hunter.

"We ready?" Dan asked me from the doorway, and I nodded, leaning down to brush my hand through Lily's hair. She was asleep again. Sometimes I wished that she could be at least Infected enough to have our healing abilities, but she was doing all right on her own, according to Clara. She was going to be tired for a while though. "Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go."

**oOo**

The ride through town was mostly uneventful and boring, we were hunting for the vet's office while also looking for anything else that may be useful. Then Dan decided he wanted to know what I listened to, and the car we were in was new enough to have a jack for my mp3 player – which, luckily, I'd had the charger to.

I laughed, then plugged the mp3 player into the car, my laughter turning into full-out cackling at the look on Dan's face. "Oh, good God, Hunter. Do you listen to anything that won't make a man's ears bleed?" He complained, and I started scrolling through the songs.

"This sounds like a techno-ey car commercial." Dan said after I'd settled on a song. I shrugged, then leaned back and closed my eye. "I like it." I said.

_I want justice for the voice that can't be heard, vindication for every suffering and hurt. Let retribution hold dominion over Earth, because Judgment Day's not coming – Judgment Day's not coming soon enough._

"An almost depressing car commercial." Dan revised his opinion, then reached to change the song. I hissed at him, and he raised an eyebrow. "Hey, I'm putting in the effort to try to get to know you. You can tell a lot about a person with their music."  
"You can learn more in a bit. I like this song. Also – vet's office." I pointed out the window at a house-like brick building set a bit back from the road and practically invisible behind trees. The only thing that marked it was the 'Tattnall Veterinary Clinic' sign outside of it. Dan smiled. "Good. Let's get in here and get the shit and go."  
"Mmm." I took a drag off the cigarette I'd been nursing for the past couple of minutes. "May be a slight problem with that. I just remembered -" I smirked at the look on Dan's face. "Ketamine, is it? Yeah. Really high street value. Its not just going to be laying out anywhere. Probably going to be in a safe."  
"Fucking lovely. Also, how do you know so much about this stuff?" He asked. I shook my head. "Addy was in an anti-drug group, she volunteered to help what were essentially teenage crackheads. I didn't approve, I was worried she was going to get hurt. But she made a point of researching every single drug on the market, its effects and street names, values – stuff like that. That way she knew what the Hell the kids were talking about."  
"Oh. Makes sense. If I'd had a wife, I wouldn't want her going down into the neighborhoods you usually find kids like that in, either." He pulled into the parking lot, shut off the car and got out. I followed him. "No wife?" I said, and he shook his head. "Nope. Just me, Ralph, Lucky, Dingbat, Rosa and Lucy." I frowned, "Dingbat?" He laughed. "My hunting dogs. Beagles. Zombies got them one night, that's how I figured out the world was going to Hell. Dingbat was Dingbat because she was downright stupid. I can't tell you how many times that damn dog ran full-tilt into the sliding glass door."  
"Oh. Well, I guess that would earn it a name like that. I'm sorry about your dogs." I said. He shook his head. "Don't worry about it."

Then we opened the door to the vet's office.

"You're shitting me." I said right as Dan spat out, "Jesus fucking wept."  
The Tank that was staring at us from the other side of the door decided to stop looking confused right about then, and let out an unholy bellow before charging after us. Dan and I took off running. "Don't let it get near the car! We need that to get back home!" Dan yelled over his shoulder.  
"Dan, shoot it! I'm gonna get it from the roof." I called back, turning and leaping for the roof, grabbing on to the rain trap at the edge of the roof and hauling myself up, the metal bending under my weight. The Tank noticed this and started tearing after me, roaring. Dan unloaded a shotgun into its back, making it howl and effectively distracting it. It turned back for Dan, tearing up one of those pieces of concrete you see marking parking spaces and tossing it in Dan's general direction. He ducked and rolled out of the way of the various bits of flying debris. "Hoodie, do something!" He yelled before shooting the Tank again. "I'm running out of ammo!"  
I scuttled to the edge of the roof nearest the Tank, curling my legs under myself and then vaulting off the roof with as much force as I could, shrieking like a mad thing. I slammed into the back of the Tank's shoulders, sinking my claws into the burly mass of muscle that was once the creature's neck. If I'd attacked anything normal, the impact from the height of the roof and my body weight would have broken something, if not outright killed them.  
I might as well have been a gnat to the Tank. Until, of course, I managed to gouge out one of its eyes. It howled and started spinning around like a drunken top, trying to dislodge me. I got hold of the tongue that was dangling uselessly, exposed from its lack of a bottom jaw, so when the Tank finally reached back, grabbed me, and threw me across the parking lot – its tongue went with me. The average person could bleed to death from losing their tongue. Here's hoping that worked on a Tank.  
I grunted as I slammed into one of the few cars in the parking lot, then bounced to the ground. Which was rumbling under me. How odd. I didn't think that southeast Georgia had much in the way of earthquakes – oh, fuck, Tank. I had about half a second to recover from getting knocked stupid by the car before the Tank was on me again.

**-(Dan)-**  
I reloaded the shotgun as quickly as I could while the Hoodie had the Tank distracted, and couldn't help an involuntary flinch as Cristan went sailing across the parking lot. Hopefully, those reinforced bones helped him out here. That would have pulverized me.  
I clicked the final shell home just in time to watch Cris come up from his pathetic heap beside the car to wrap around the Tank's leg like a recalcitrant toddler. Except when toddlers decided they wanted to ride around on your legs, they weren't clawing and biting the leg in question – usually. Tanks really did have puny legs.  
I got closer, aiming for the small of the Tank's back as I shot again. It turned just as the gun went off, so I wound up blowing a hole in its side and part of its arm. It roared at me, bloody tongue-stump flapping ridiculously. I backed off as it started for me again, shooting repeatedly. I'd already unloaded the shotgun into it once. The damn things had so much muscle that you had to keep shooting the same spot over and over to get through all that padding and to the guts underneath. And good luck getting a headshot. They had a skull like a goddamn titanium hardhat.  
I had unloaded about half of the shells into the Tank's gut when it suddenly tipped forward with a confused wailing noise. Cris popped up from its leg with a bloody mouth and a big smile. "Hamstrung it." He said. "Legs are their weak spot."  
It swiped at him and he jumped back with a shriek. The Tank started belly crawling after him. I ran up and was finally able to get my shot at the small of its back, where the muscle vanished and the puny legs and hips started, paralyzing it even more effectively than Cris had, then I jumped up onto its back and unloaded the remaining three shots at point-blank range into the back of the Tank's head. It finally had the grace to die.

I reloaded the gun again, then grinned at Cris. "You know they're not going to believe we brought down a Tank by ourselves, right?" I said, and he shook his head, "Definitely. I can hear it now – 'What are you talking about? It takes at least four people to kill a Tank.'" He snorted. "Come on, I highly doubt anything was sharing space with the Tank."  
"Oh, no, now that you've said that, there'll be seven Hunters and twelve Witches in the damn office." I grumbled, and Cris laughed. "Oh, come on, we took down a Tank by ourselves. What's a dozen Witches to that?" He paused and looked at the Tank. "You know, I really don't think those things count as human anymore... And that's a lot of meat to be letting go to waste."  
"That's disgusting." I said before I walked into the office. Cris trailed after me, shrugging. "Well, I mean, its not like human law really exists any more – and if you cook it thoroughly, I'm sure you probably won't get prion disease." "What the Hell is prion disease?" I asked as I started looking around behind the counter. "Similar to mad cow. You get it from eating raw or undercooked human meat. Makes you crazy." Cris answered before he wandered off into a small office behind the counter. "Safe's in here," he called. "Combination lock."  
I walked in to the small office. "Well, can't you just tear through it? I've seen Infected beat through steel doors."  
He gave me a blank stare. "Dan, have you ever seen a Hunter or any of the other higher Infected do that? Tanks and Witches don't count." I thought for a second. "Well, no. Why? Are you guys weaker than the commons?" I asked. He shook his head. "No. But they don't feel pain. They're too far gone. They generally break every bone in their hands doing that. They just don't care."  
"Well, shit. What do we do?" I slouched against the desk. Cris shrugged. "Were in a backwater redneck town. Search the desk for the code. I'm sure the good doctor probably wrote it down somewhere."  
I raised my eyebrows, wondering why I hadn't thought of that. Then I turned and started going through the drawers.

**oOo**

Three hours later, we'd been through every single scrap of paper in the entire office. I was pissed and Cris wasn't much better, sucking on his latest cigarette with a vengeance that said that maybe he thought the damn thing had insulted his mama.  
He plunked down cross-legged on the floor, staring around the room. "I cannot believe," I started, sitting down in the office chair. "That they're backwoods and redneck, but actually remembered their fucking safe code."  
Cris nodded, then frowned. "Wait a second." He crawled forward, Hunter-style, and I scooted back out of his way as he worked his way into the leg space under the desk. Ten seconds later, he made a happy crowing noise and scooted back out, holding something small and black in his hand. "Metal desk, Hide-A-Key thing." He said with a very sharp-toothed grin.  
He slid the container open, pulling out a folded piece of paper. "I'll be damned." I said, and he handed over the code.  
I went to the safe, and I had the thing open within a matter of minutes.

We dug through it, and eventually had a respectable pile of ketamine vials to take back to Clara. We left the safe open in case we got sent back after any more animal-related drugs.

"You go on out, I'll be there in a second." Cris said after he dumped out a purse that had been left laying in the office, refilling it with the vials. "Be careful with these. Also, prop the main door open for me."  
"All right." I said, taking the purse and heading out of the building, wondering what the Hunter was up to now.

**-(Cristan)-**  
I wandered into the back of the vet's office, where the animals were kept. I wrinkled my nose at the smell as I walked through the rows and rows of cages, opening the doors as I went. It didn't look like any of them were still alive, but it was still … It didn't seem right to leave them caged to starve to death, even though it looked like I was a bit too late for that.  
I frowned. Not quite as late as I thought. Most of the death in the cages was recent – within the last week or so, going by the state of the bodies and the smell.  
Then it dawned on me – the Tank.  
Someone had been holing up here, taking care of the animals, and had only recently become Infected. We'd just killed what that someone had turned into.  
There was a growling noise from one of the cages, and I peered in to view what looked like a very cranky rottweiler. There was a big tag on the cage door that proclaimed him a biter, not to be allowed near children. I nodded to myself, then flicked the cage open. The dog came flying out at me – it was all ribs, but still healthy enough to be dangerous. I screamed at it, baring my teeth, and it backed down. I pointed at the door. "Get!"  
It get-ed.  
Thus why I'd had Dan leave the door open. I heard his shouted what-the-Hell and the slam of the car door as the dog went flying outside. I released two more large dogs in this manner, finding it odd that the ones that had survived were all biters. Probably just too stubborn and mean to give up.  
I finally got to the end of the cages, I was in the cat section now, and it didn't look like any of the furballs had made it. Pity. I was always more of a cat person than a dog person. I paused and peered into a cage when a noise caught my attention, a pathetic mewling. I pried open the cage and sorted through the various bodies – a mother cat and four kittens. There was a fifth kitten wedged into the back of the cage, behind the mother. Tiny little thing, its eyes weren't even open all the way. I was amazed that it had lived so long without the mother cat. Maybe it had only been a couple of days for these.  
I scooped the little kitten into the inside pocket of my coat and went about raiding the vets office, looking for the milk substitute that one used when mother cats were dead. Maybe Clara, Nina, Lily or Erika would know what to do with the whole feeding process.

Look at me. A Hunter with a conscience about cute fuzzy kittens. Awesome.

Milk substitute and feeding tube found, I went ahead and raided the rest of the vets' office for a litterbox, litter, a couple different sizes of collars and cat-sized harnesses just in case the damn cat got brilliant, and went ahead and grabbed a couple bags of kitten food for when it got older. A couple of other things got thrown in the litter box as well, including something for Clara's new pet Hunter.  
I then went back to the cat cages and thoroughly went through them, making sure there weren't any more live animals. None found. Looked like the mother cat had been eating the kittens, so I counted the one in my pocket extremely lucky.

Back out to the car with my load of cat stuff, I set all of it in the back seat, then settled into the front, patting my coat pocket absently. The kitten started mewling again.  
"What – why is your coat moving and making noise? What did you find?" Dan asked, glancing into the back seat. "I know you can't fit a full grown cat in that coat of yours."  
"No, I found a baby." I gently extricated the kitten from my pocket, careful of my claws. "See?" The thing fit in my palm with room to spare, and it started crawling for my wrist, yowling unhappily. I absently stroked the top of its head with the back of one claw. "It's too young to be weaned, but other than the dogs, it was the only thing left alive in there. I'm hoping one of the girls knows about the whole hand-feeding thing. I don't want it to die – it's not prey." I shrugged.  
"Cute. A Hunter with a soft spot for kittens." Dan pretty much reiterated my earlier thought. "What do you mean 'not prey', though? I don't understand your thought processes."  
I actually found it odd that we'd only spent about an hour alone together, and he was already past the pull-a-gun-on-the-Hunter-every-two-seconds thing, and seemed like he was actually trying to wrap his head around how my brain worked. I tucked the kitten back into my coat to keep it warm. "Cats are generally solitary hunters, they ambush their prey by pouncing on them and using their claws and teeth." I patted my coat where the kitten was. "Think of the kitten as a Hunter that weighs, oh, an ounce or two. Makes me partial to them. Dogs, on the other hand, are absolutely useless except in large packs. Kind of like the Common Infected." He nodded. "I can understand that. In a sort of psychopathic, serial-killer kind of way, it makes sense. What if that dog of Trey's isn't a fan of cats?" He said. I growled. "Then Trey will be minus a dog."

The rest of the ride home was uneventful, Dan going through my MP3 player again before finally settling on a Seether song that I'd forgotten I had. Me, I chainsmoked and occupied myself with 'talking' with the kitten – making clicking-chirping noises at it, and it would mewl back. At one point, the little fuzzball got freaked out – I don't know if it was like me and just didn't like riding in cars, or what, but I set up a low bass growl, almost no real sound to it, and the kitten settled right down.  
Dan gave me an incredulous look. "Are you _purring_?" He asked. I blinked, thought about it for a second. "I'm not sure. I just figured the vibration would calm the kitten down. They've got sharp toes and it was trying to climb my ribcage. I guess I was." He snorted and shook his head. "You're an odd one."

**-(Nina)-**  
I was half-asleep on one of the multiple couches spread out in one of the open areas of the prison when Cris just kind of popped up next to me, making an odd, inhuman squealing noise and scaring the pee out of me – almost literally. I sat upright quickly enough that he had to rear back to avoid getting his nose broken. "Cris, what the Hell?" I asked once I'd managed to relocate my heart from my throat back to its respectful place in my chest.  
He gave me his best big-huge-toothy grin and held out his hands, cupped over eachother. "I need your help, none of the other girls know what to do and Trey said you'd had experience with something like this before."  
"What, did you superglue your hands together or somethi –" I stopped mid-sentence as his hands decided to mewl at me. That sounded suspiciously like a newborn kitten. "What do you have?" I asked. He opened his hands to show me an absolutely tiny kitten, maybe two weeks old. A little calico. I automatically went into mushy girl mode.  
"Aw!" I scooped the kitten out of his hands and cooed at it, petting its head gently. "Such a pretty little girl. You found her at the vet's?" I asked Cris. He nodded. "Only surviving cat in the place. How did you know it was a girl? I, uh, never checked." He looked vaguely disturbed by the idea of gender-checking the kitten. I laughed. "Calico is a color pattern that only occurs in female cats. So we don't have to worry about this one spraying every object in the prison."  
I held the kitten up to my nose, going practically cross-eyed in the process, and kept petting it. It lifted its head and bumped noses with me, which made me giggle like a five year old. Then I lowered it and looked back at Cris. "I'm guessing you need help feeding it? Its way too little to be weaned. Probably doesn't really even have teeth yet." Cris nodded. "I got the tube thing and the formula from the vet's office, but I don't have the first clue what to do with it."  
"Well, if all the other cats were dead, this baby's probably really hungry, so let's go see what we can do. Here," I handed the kitten back to him. "Make sure she stays warm."

That said, I got up and led him into the massive kitchen/cafeteria area of the prison. I loved this place, and I was ecstatic that the place had its own generators and ran on well water, so we were good on power and hot water.  
Cris brought me the kitten formulas he had found to let me decide which was the best, then I got started on the teach-the-Hunter-how-to-play-mama-cat ordeal.  
"I had a kitten I had to hand feed," I said after we'd gotten the formula prepared. "He was the runt of the litter and the mama cat wanted nothing to do with him. She had five other, perfectly healthy babies to deal with. So I hand-raised it." I showed Cris how to run the tube to the kitten. "We could also do this with an eye dropper. It might be easier." I noted. "Only gross part about it is that with a kitten this little, they're not exactly totally in control of themselves yet and you have to make sure they use the bathroom properly. That's why the mother cats bathe their babies so much right after they feed them."  
I burst out laughing at the look Cris was giving me. "I am not spit bathing the kitten. No." He said, which just made me laugh harder. "No – no no." I gasped when I got my breath back. "Think like a normal person for a few minutes. No licking of kittens is involved. I'll show you how to do it in a bit."  
Five minutes later, I gave up on the tube from the vet's office and dug out an eyedropper from a first aid kit. I made sure that it was sterile and had never been dunked in medicine before, then I sucked up some of the formula with it and went about feeding the kitten that way. So much easier.  
"Now, you're probably going to need to feed her about every two hours, Cris, so – you're gonna have a hell of a frustrating sleep schedule for a while."  
"I don't need a lot of sleep, and I had a kid." He paused, winced. "I'm kind of used to getting woken up at three o' clock in the morning."

**-(Clara)-**  
I was smiling to myself as I dosed the Hunter with the ketamine and waited for it to kick in. I would have never thought of an Infected having a soft spot for kittens, but Dan had informed me of Cristan's sudden infatuation with the little kitten he'd found – and the theory behind why he liked cats. I could understand it, really. Hunters tended to be very catlike in their hunting methods. I didn't know why I hadn't made the connection before.  
I checked the Hunter's pulse, then turned the tape recorder back on.  
"This is Doctor Clara Dannis again, picking up on the previous recording at –" I read off the date and time again. "With the captured Infected, sub-class of Hunter. I have just given the Hunter a moderate dose of ketamine, and I'm waiting for the sedative effect to kick in. Hopefully, this will work better than human-based sedatives, which the Infected burn through at an alarming rate." I scrawled down the dosage information in my notebook, then waited a few minutes, detailing a few more specifics about Hunters at the tape recorder.  
The Hunter eventually stopped struggling and his breathing evened out. I leaned forward and waved my hand in front of the Infected's face, satisfied when I got nothing but a halfhearted moan.  
"Dan, come back in here, please." I called to him. He stepped back in from the other room. "What do you need, Clara?" He asked, looking downright wary.  
"We're going to undress the Hunter, bathe him and tend his wounds." I said, taking note of the mutinous look on Dan's face. "Daniel, he's drugged out of his mind and he smells to high heaven. I am not going to work on a patient that reeks of infected wounds and rotting meat. I am not going to leave him injured. Get over here and help me."  
He grumbled, but eventually complied.

It didn't take us long to get the Hunter undressed after we'd cut the duct tape off of his arms, undoing and refastening the restraints one by one until he was completely unclothed. There wasn't much to take off of him: black jeans, black sleeveless under shirt – what had Trey called it? A wifebeater? Very classy. - and the hoodie. Nothing else. No shoes, or anything. There was an odd symbol on the back of the hoodie that looked oddly like an elongated biohazard symbol, with the letters "INRI" underneath it. "I wonder what this stands for, this symbol." I said, mostly to myself. Dan shrugged, "Probably a band or brand name, though I can't think of a brand called INRI off the top of my head. Actually, wasn't that the plaque that they nailed on Jesus' cross? 'Here Lies Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews' or something?"  
I thought for a moment. "I think so. I'd almost wonder if he wasn't part of a church group – except I can't see a church group using a biohazard symbol. I don't know. Let's get him clean."

Disrobing the Hunter done, we wheeled his gurney into the shower room of the prison. I gave the Hunter another small dose of the drug to keep him under, because we'd have him completely unbound.  
I started with his hair, and Lord but there was a lot of it. I'm sure if one actually brushed all the snags and mats out of it, it would probably reach his hips at the very least. Elbow-length in front, the ends cut in a deep 'v' shape. Wet, it looked black, and it had been too filthy before for me to decide on a color. I spent twenty minutes and half a bottle of shampoo on his hair alone. On a whim, I worked conditioner into the bottom half of the mane, letting it soak while I went to work on the rest of him. I'd brought some basic medical supplies – disinfectant being the main thing – into the shower room with me, so I went to work bathing the various cuts, scrapes, and abrasions on him, wincing when I found areas on him where Trey had whacked him so hard with the fire poker that the skin had split. The skin was already an ugly mixture of purple, black and red where he'd been hit. Trey apparently had a lot more strength in him than one would assume from his wiry build.  
I was starting to run out of hot water by the time I got him totally de-grimed and disinfected. There had been some awkward moments – keeping him balanced or turned a certain way without completely destroying his dignity – but he'd stayed pretty much out of it for the whole ordeal.  
I got Dan to hold his head up while I rinsed the conditioner out. The Hunter chose that time to start coming to, making a soft wailing noise and trying to curl into himself. He wasn't lashing out yet, but I knew it wouldn't be long. I got the last of the conditioner out of his hair, then stood and shut off the shower. I was soaked to the bone, which is thoroughly uncomfortable when still fully clothed, but I was happy that my patient was no longer stinky.  
We wrestled him upright enough to wrap a towel around his shoulders, and another around his waist before we heaved him up onto the table and tried to strap him down again – he started flailing in earnest then, letting out a scream that reverberated off the bathroom walls and made my ears ring.  
I whipped a vial out of my very soggy pocket and drew a quick syringe full of ketamine, lunging forward and injecting almost the entire thing into the Hunter's neck before dodging out of the way of the claws at the end of his unbroken arm. It took less than five seconds for the Hunter to collapse in a limp, shivering heap. I hurried to check his pulse and respiration, worried that I might have overdosed him, but he seemed fine – extremely out of it, but fine.

We wheeled him back into the psych area of the hospital wing, and Dan excused himself to go take guard on the prison walls. I set up an IV drip of Ketamine, then looked at the Hunter for a minute. I decided to fetch another full-sized towel. Once I returned, I used this on his hair, which had been creating a puddle on the floor. I wrapped the towel in a loose quasi-turban around his head, then got started on the wounds.  
The gunshot wound was a matter of extracting the bullet, then repairing the wound as best I could. His wrist, I set and splinted to the best of my ability, but I wasn't entirely happy with it. I double-checked his IV, then felt the bones of his face, detailing these injuries – along with all the others – to the tape recorder. "Going by the swelling and what I can feel, the left _malar_is broken, along with his nose." I paused long enough to go about the tricky business of setting the poor Hunter's nose. He flinched and whimpered, but was too drugged up to do much about it. "Not a lot I can do for his cheek bone, I am not a plastic surgeon, nor do I have one here. However, going by touch, it doesn't feel too severe and should heal all right on its own. Probably a minor fracture." I moved down, shifting the towel wrapped around his waist out of the way. "This – I'm going to need help with." I paused the tape recorder and went looking for Cristan, taking the Hunter's pile of dirty clothes with me.

I found him up in the common area with Nina and Trey. "Cris. I need your help."  
He looked up from tending the little calico kitten. "Yeah?" He handed the kitten off to Trey, who gave the little furball a look like he couldn't quite figure out what its purpose was. "I need help setting Inri's thigh."  
"Inri?" Cris asked, tilting his head. I shrugged, "The only identifying _anything_ I found on that Hunter is his hoodie. It's got the letters I-N-R-I across the back on the bottom and a weird biohazard-like symbol on it, so I've been calling him Inri in my head." I pronounced it 'in-REE.'  
"I-N-R-I? Like the whole Jesus thing?" Nina asked. Cris nodded. "Sort of. More like the Psyclon Nine album, I think. Let me see the hoodie before we go deal with his leg – if that's what you have under your arm?" I handed over the wadded up hoodie and he held it up, spreading the fabric tight to look at the design. "Yeah. Man, I would have loved to have had a hoodie like this a few years ago. That's the Psyclon Nine hoodie. The Pentahazard is their band logo … thing."  
"Penta-what?" Nina asked, while I added, "But it doesn't look very much like a pentagram, more like a –"  
"Cross. It's a biohazard symbol mixed with a cross. Before any of you ask – this isn't a family friendly band, by a long shot." Cris smiled. "Let's go set 'Inri's thigh." He made air quotes around the name, then stood up and headed for the psych wing, calling over his shoulder, "Nina, if you can, or if you can get Erika to do it, wash and fix his clothes. Hunters are freakishly possessive over their hoodies and rehabbing him might work a bit better if he has his stuff back."  
"All right." She said, gathering the rest of the nasty-smelling bundle from me.

**oOo**

When you had an almost preternaturally strong person recruited to set a bone, it really didn't take long. The only issue was that I had a few more gouges to stitch up due to Cris having to dig his claws in to get a grip. But, Inri's leg was set and splinted as best I could do, and I was happy.  
"You're one of them, you know more than I do." I said, "Where do I go from here?" I looked to Cris for help. He tapped a claw beside his missing eye, something he did when the thought. Then he fished around in his pockets, one of which seemed much lumpier than it should be. He withdrew what looked to be two lengths of chain with a metallic rasp. "What is that?" I asked.  
"Picked these up at the vet's office, I was thinking about Dan's shock collar idea." He held up the smaller chain. "Choke collar, same kind you'd use on a large dog." Then he lifted the longer chain, which was still shorter than your average leash. "Lead for a horse. He'd probably react a bit better to being half strangled than shocked. We're not really that smart about anything but the equivalent of a boot in our face when it comes to bad-do-not-do." I gave him a blank stare, "You're saying, what, lead him around on a leash? Cris, what's stopping him from eating who ever is holding the leash?" I asked.  
"He knows better than to eat me, and I'm the only one among all of you strong enough to jerk a Hunter off its feet." He answered. "You're gonna want to keep him sedated for about a week, two weeks, give his arm and leg time to heal up a bit, then he's going to need to move around. Hunters go a bit more nuts if you keep them down for a long time. Too much energy to spare. I'm speaking from experience here. I was down for a week or so and my version of venting the excess energy was killing every zombie in this prison. Which, while it was fun, I don't see Inri here getting the same opportunity. We don't want him eating everyone here because he went stir-crazy."

We talked for a bit more about the ideas and theories behind how Cristan had been brought back to sanity, and what the best ideas for Inri were. While we spoke, I finished towel-drying Inri's hair and combed it out, it hung nearly to the floor from the edge of the gurney, and was a pretty mahogany color with streaks of gold in it, possibly highlighted by sun exposure.  
Cris watched me idly before looking up at the clock on the wall – I was amazed the thing still worked – and stepping back. "I gotta feed the kitten, then I'm going to see if I can get some sleep. Good night, Clara." He said before turning on his heel and walking out.

**-(Lily)-**  
I woke up long enough to watch Cristan put his kitten in the nightstand drawer, where he had a little heat rock set up – apparently something used in a reptile's terrarium, if any of his earlier babbling was to be heeded – and wrapped in a t-shirt, so the kitten would be warm. The rest of the drawer was padded in old, disposable but clean rags.  
I sighed contentedly as I felt the bed dip down beside me, grumbling until I felt Cris's arm over my side, and then I promptly dropped back into my painkiller induced quasi-coma, smiling at the thought of Cris with a cat. Maybe he'd be happier with the little furball around.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: The song that Cris and Dan are listening to in the car is "Nemesis" by VNV Nation.**


	14. AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hey, all. I know it's been over two years since I posted a chapter, and... sorry to say, it's going to stay that way.  
I've read through the story a couple of times and honestly, I don't know what I was thinking. Truthfully, I wasn't. I had no plan, no definite plot, just sat down and typed out whatever popped into my mind, and it shows.  
If I were to continue this story, it would need a complete and total rewrite. I see so much wrong with my sentence structure and the flow of the piece, not to mention all of the L4D story stereoptypes I fell into. Another mistake I made was having more characters than I could wrap my brain around.  
I do very much still enjoy reading L4D fics and I may still try my hand at a new one, but this one... this one's beyond saving, in my opinion.

So... Just imagine that either a crescendo event happened and everyone died - or Cristan and Jeremy/INRI went nuts and ate everyone. C:

Happy reading, people.  
-Laura


End file.
